Nights turning into morning
sun goes down, we come alive
two wounded bird, awaits the dawning
the days of our life

each night, afloat in my sphere
you shoot athwart my dark sky
but life isn’t fair
the reason I cannot fly

some nights you’d appear as the blood-moon
to keep a lonesome me cheerful
and perky like the crescent-moon
then I gawp and feel blissful.