I paid the ticket at the gate to watch the beetle race.
As I entered I could still feel the rain upon my face
Climbing stands; within my stomach I ached with anticipation.
As the people there began to cheer for the occasion
I took my seat and fixed my eyes upon the beetle's shine.
Within my eyes: the beetle made me glad that he was mine.
Mine alone, the people there could never understand.
To have that shining beetle nestled in my shining hand.
The rain did cease and as if at once, the sun began to rise.
The moment that the light had hit the beetles eyes.
He started fast upon his race straight to the finish line.
Before my eyes could focus: he had left his smoky trail.
His opponent, me alone, inside his smoky gaol.
I awoke, slowly, then the sun began to set.
The beetle was now gone, I sat alone and wept.
In his place was but a stain, a shadow on the ground.
A pile of hollow soot; within an ashen mound.
To watch the beetle race again, one must pay a toll.
To feel his light upon my face I'd give away my soul.
I never felt again the way I felt that day
But when it's dark and I'm alone I watch him run away.
The beetle's race it lights me up, when my whole world is dark.
Till I weep and lo' I see, alone the Beetle's mark.