How your face has fallen to the cruel days
Like the leaves on the ground
Like the moth in my bedroom
In circles flying round and round
In circles flying round
How the light casts your eyes
In the early shadows of the night
While in the flickering bedroom light
The moth burns her wings
And then burns them again, and again.
What would you have her do?
For pity her heart burns alone
It is more silent in her mind
So far from the whispering winds of home...
Far from the winds of home.