Eyes open,10 am sundaymorning
Awakened by the poor light of the sun
And through the sand,in between two yawnings
I saw them butterflies come
There was an angel lying beside me
While I was painting her room
And now everytime I’m on my own
I think about the crescent of the moon

I watched her bathing,her beauty so unusual
She was singing a sweet song so low
The tail of the peacock standing wide open
And Byron threw his ball of snow
Upon the crosswords scattered on the table
A bowl of soup and a spoon
And now everytime I’m on my own
I think about the crescent of the moon

Nighttime,daytime,anytime,many a time
But mostly in the afternoon
Everytime I’m on my own
I think about the crescent of the moon