I Hear the Moon Sing

I hear the moon sing
But I see the sun cry
As your naked body begins to fly

I follow dressed in black
With the diary of your bed
With the little white angels
Who were your best bedspread

But down in your grave
Go the museum bones
The flocks of your sheep
And an old vixens moans

While you tidy your room
And comb out your hair
Did you know it was my body
They really buried in there

Yes did you know it was my body
They really buried in there

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances. View all posts by blackbird212012