* * *
The light is hot, the void is cold,
The sands are old, the winds are young,
My face, it’s just a stupid spot
Right in a circle of the Sun.
Beyond the tomb, behind the arch,
Before a lie becomes a truth,
Please hold me close, it’s getting dark.
Don’t ask me anything. I do.
Mind is a fragile crystal sphere,
Word is a colourful balloon,
And you can see me over there,
Right in a circle of the Moon.