Like the Moon

In the gardens where the roses bleed their last,
I’m a ghost of every summer that has passed.
Nature’s stone narcotic numbs the aching soul,
While the shadows of the chapel take control.
I press my forehead to the cold, dead wall,
Waiting for the winter, waiting for the fall...
My skin is pale, my spirit’s burning bright,
Alone within this hollow, sacred night.

And I look up to the sky, so vast and wide,
Where the Silver Queen has nowhere left to hide.

We are turning grey just like the Moon,
Fading out of time, and much too soon.
The silver dust is falling on our hair,
A cold reflection of a long-lost prayer.
Like the Moon, we’re ancient, cold, and still,
Losing every breath and every will.


"Oh God," I cry, "Have You forgotten me?"
In this garden of decaying misery.
My heart is wilting like a fallen leaf,
Finding comfort in this anesthetic grief.
The secret flame is flickering in the dark,
Waiting for the frost to leave its silver mark.
We’re growing white, we’re growing old and cold,
A story that the moonlight’s always told.

Silver hair...
Silver soul...
The Moon is calling...
Take me whole.

We are turning grey just like the Moon!
Fading out of time, and much too soon!
The silver dust is falling on our hair,
A cold reflection of a long-lost prayer!

The stone narcotic...
The silver sleep...
The roses wither...
And we don't weep.