When we discover beauty, death is near,
the flashing lights of fireflies, a sign.
             The flashing lights of fireflies, a sign.
             Mating, egg laying, then a brilliant death.
Two years underground, but a brilliant death.
We jar them, marvel at the show.
             Death throes make a hell of a show.
             What would you give for this last act?
We flock to the Smokies for this last act,
fiery beetles, a synchronous wake.
             We gather in lawn chairs, stay awake,
             call it magic, a blessing to witness.
Who will forgive this feast of witness?
When we discover beauty, death is near.