The fog is dense, intense,
and I'm not the sun,
I do not have in me
the glowing passion, wrath, desire,
to dispel, fling to shreds,
the clouds of melancholy.
Yes, the fog is dense,
and, no, I'm not the sun.
I'm not the sun,
but at least, I am a firefly,
a speck of light, a glimpse, negligible,
hardly present, hardly visible,
hardly there, but there.
I have in me the power to set ablaze
the minds, to create suns, to dispel clouds.
You'll ask ‘what's a firefly worth, pray?
