Staring into the flame makes me realize the world of pain with which, I have no shame Every little breeze coming in to tease knocks me onto my knees It is a cruel joke played upon the poor bloke the air making him choke. Clinging to life it stands proud in strife waiting for the knife With one good shot it could be smothered on the spot again in its place, one just as hot. It prays to keep the grip Wind came, and took a sip and there, the final drip. Now a cloud of smoke and nothing left to stoke it's covered in a darkened cloak.