The Moth

Moth Lane Brewery in Freeland, PEI, is named after a certain relation of the proprietor who was known to stroll down the road in the evenings and drop in for a visit if your porch light was left on. He was known as “The Moth”. I thought it would make a good song. Somehow, with an unmeasured mix of bonfire smoke, rustling leaves, moonlight, and romanticism, the words came out much differently than expected. It’s part of the mystery of song making.

The Moth

In the faded frock of evening Powdered wings to darkness clinging Beneath this ballroom sky of wonder Sets the moth her wings aflutter

On a path of porch light blinking Beaded cloth of twilight winking Beneath the velvet skirt she’s under Sets the moth to find her lover

Chorus: Come close to the fire, my love Draw near to the flame In the hollow of the sky, where the smoke is rising shy There are stars that have no name Still they sparkle just the same Come close to the fire my love Draw near to the flame In the hollow of the night, embers spark and rise in flight In the ashes love remains And the faith to try again

On the windowsill this creature Where no living hand can reach her In a spiderweb she’s resting In a looking glass reflecting

So the light is taken from her At the awkward end of summer Sleeping in the silk she’s borrowed Waiting for her flight tomorrow