give it a strike at the end of the wick,
spoil the story and cut to the quick,
pull out your kit to spin such a yarn
to heat up those nights but do little harm.
singe your fingers as it melts away,
briefest pain taunts you not to play,
pull out your kit, tape up the burns
and wonder how long it will take you to learn.
strike the last and don't wonder how
you decided to not stop now,
pull out your conscience and give it a whack,
don't be surprised when it doesn't come back.