for Brian Eno
When the moon whispers dust falls
like a million snow flakes
When the moon sighs the wind slips by
When the moon laughs a storm
churns up in remote regions
and when the moon whimpers
a legion of cicadas echoes the call
When the moon falls like the final teardrop
When the moon stalls and blushes before a kiss
the moon will rush toward all of us
with an enveloping shadow eclipse
like the sudden moment each night
that goes by unrealized when we shut our eyes
just before sliding into a dream
The moon is always what it seems
The moon's full to burst with cunning
In its repetitive wake we're lulled to sleep
even while the rhythmic tides are pulled
toward us as it circles our planet like a wolf
and mother, the moon shines at night
as one of the sisters of mercy running
the moon can become a rapturous sight
infecting the minds of the clergy
as readily as the dispositions of the depraved
The moon is harvesting energy
The moon doesn't care if we're lost or saved
as far as its concerned it wants to keep us moving
The moon is my shepherd, I shall not want
It makes me feel so high, through meadows green
The moon leads me through the silenced waters by
With a frightful spin it helps release my soul
and taketh me upon its wings to many places
The moon converts me to a believer
For lo, the moon hath great power
and an even greater hunger to feed
upon the fields of human plankton
in silent reflection and steady dedication
The moon will rise up as surely as the Sun
reflected in our eyes when the day is done
The moon likes to go sailing out at night
or on a breezy afternoon with the starlight shining
all the while the moon acts as a shield
for the forged and tempered sword
of the technology humans wield
The moon's a corporate logo
etched with tribal scarification
The moon's a beautiful tattoo
upon the face of all creation
an anomaly embedded on the velvet sky of night
The moon has become wedded to our sight
A colossal source of mystery with a hidden secret
kept from its legion of novitiates
The moon's unknown mystique can be heard
whenever the word becomes unraveled
in our ears as a lonely siren song
The moon appears to take too long
to reach its goal and claim our souls
The moon is never wrong
It purifies the sky as it goes
Skimming the exosphere with an aurora
dragging sparks like a fingernail
scratching on a coffin lid
lighting up the darkness
hiding its enigma in compartments
Every so often the moon appears to be
here to stay, an anchor to our symmetry
The moon rolls away from us to the other side
Behind the clouds it wears a veil
as in the ceremony of a bride
walking closer to the altar to make
her sacrifice, the moon can be cruel
and seduce you with its shimmering
The moon can be alluring and vicious
Goading one on to become more suspicious
that it's an agent of oblivion, a delegate of fear
appearing every night, week, month and year
The moon can be a beggar or as regal as a king
Just think of all the artistry the moon can bring
while it hovers just beyond our reach so near
Into the distance mysteriously it disappears
because the moon itself is so very far away
sitting on the highest shelf both night and day
The moon becomes a paragon of loss
and newfound discoveries more ancient than moss
The moon cannot be rhymed with itself
nor can it ever be truly seen in a mirror
The moon becomes a vampire once a month
inspiring careless love and terror
As it feeds upon Lilith's opulent blossoms
The moon becomes motherfucking awesome
Clearly, enough cannot be said about the moon
It's gravity acts as a permanent spell
on our waking consciousness for better or ill
The moon may be an omen to some now and then
and a blessing to others, it just depends
The moon may have been crafted with artful concern
or the moon may just be a monumental urn
filled with the ashes of generations of the dead
laid to rest upon its surface over the ages
we've been led to get swept up by the wind
to wither and turn into so much dust
and detritus that merges with the mulch as we must
The moon may as well be the monarch of earth
to transform back into a worm in reverse
The moon ain't nothing to fuck with
as it sails into the blackness of night
The moon seems to simply be waiting
eventually to be reclaimed by the light
The moon becomes a stark reminder
that the clock is always ticking
You may look and never find her
behind our back the moon is tricky
playing a game of hide and seek
The moon can give us strength
The moon remains an icon
The moon must stay true
The moon will rise and fall
