We are all like matches
We're nothing but a stick
  That life was struck into by
    Some one much bigger then
                         Ourselves.

At first, we are a strong flame
  But then we get weaker and we
    start to fade slowly, at the start
      Then we go quicker, and get
  Smaller and Smaller

Until we eventually burn out.

Then there is smoke
     Which is the memories people
                    have of us.

Eventually even that smoke starts to
fade, becoming more difficult to see
fading and fading into the night with
nothing but a stick left over to see.

Then our bodies, "the stick"
the "match" itself,
is thrown away, with the other
sticks, to be left by ourselfs
and eventually to be entirely

                              forgotten.