My life is like a candle,
and like a candle it burns.
Slowly dwindling and crying
tears of wax that drip.
The candle is pale white,
and a ghostly color it pertains,
one of death and loss and purity.
But the candle means nothing.
It could melt in time, or be stolen,
and I would not care at all.
My life is like a candle.