I don't want to hear
This song of yesteryear
Mourning one who was so dear
Before she took away his eyes
Leaving behind a long night of lies
The orb then had not been trodded on
It was known only to wax, wane and be gone
For a while, before coming back for the flowers
And the tidings of the sleepless lovers
Now to hear the song again
With wrinkles, grey hair and pain
Is like looking at the pock-marked face
They brought back from space.
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