I once had a penny.
It was shiny, made in '20.
I held on to that penny
Til I was 23.
I met a girl whose name was Jenny,
And she reminded me of penny,
With her copper hair flowing
So nice and free.
I also knew a man named Benny.
He was real good friends with Jenny,
And I just didn't want
Him and her to be.
So I took my lucky penny,
Dipped in arsenic, covered plenty,
And gave it to dear Benny
For him to keep.
Then there was only me and Jenny,
and our good times, they were plenty.
She always came over
To visit me.
But she had a friend named Kenny.
He was an officer, knew a man named Benny.
He locked me up and
Threw away the key.
Now my age
That first touch made me flutter.
A shy, but oddly hopeful moth,
sloppily trying towards the light that had suddenly appeared.
The second, the third, the fourth, and my heart gained direction.
The light seemed stronger and within reach,
yet I came to fear its intensity.
Shockingly bright and warm, confusing and disorienting -
true to the life of a moth, my coordinates were scrambled.
Truer still, I collided with false promise,
and burned in misery instead.
Scrambling for explanation and that idolized coziness,
I only fried worse and worse in my attempts.
That final touch wasn’t a bed of roses I so strongly desired,
rather, the last w