The Man on the Moon

As I circle this mystery and I swoon,
It appears to be like the man on the moon,
At a distance where he moves far away,
Like the lover who only stayed for a day.

Then what of this love?
This love?

This love?
When the suffering of this universe,
Can be compared to no-one.

Then who am I to demand,
Judgment for this weight,
Waste words and ink on paper,
For wine I did not taste?

Is this what it feels like,
To spill out all your guts?
From the distance where you stand,
Can I see naught but myself?

Well maybe I never…
Did I fear anything else…?

And then why all this,

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

When there is only one “Goodbye”?
But if this is all there is to hear,
Then why do I still hold you dear?
I still whisper sweetheart’s bitter,
Through midnights cold and stoney winter.

Within this silence the man on the moon must cry,
As blood pours forth from all lovers eyes,
Miracles perform where worship doth take place,
When we drink our own tears to intoxicate?
Is that not what a Lover should do?
Oh tell me moon what a Lover should do?

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