Singe

Don't wait for me, you'll find the hour, has come to pass, has come to flower,
and every waking moment was a chance to up and ask.
My trepidation wanes, while your elation drains,
together this relation holds temptation by the reigns.
And since we're on the subject of the object of desire
You know you must relinquish and extinguish burning fire
for the flames will come to claim you and consume you in their ire
Come to find that your creations are all cinders and sensations
and all were just equations of your own engrossing mire
Seek to find the dancer who still dances though she prances
on a stage with no more chances and she does it just to fly
For she will be your answer, no deceiving, she is feeling
pain and love are reeling, but the pleasure makes her cry
Her heart may be racing and her fans may be bracing for a chance
to see her facing them before they throw her roses
She knows that this performance was a rush, was a torrent but
she could never warrant to be always on a high
Fire can be hot on low, dancers can be fraught with woe
if they seek to feel only flame before the curtain closes.