Days of nights,
a night of mirages,
souls longed for massages
and then morning dawned,
revealing a lonesome stairway
in the sunniest day,
so were the nights once,
the same day's
pitch black decay,
until the moon rose
from bombay,
eternities swayed,
lives changed,
so long as the moon stayed,
days of nights,
a night of mirages,
souls that longed for massages
and then the morning dawned.

Just as the selfsame moon
and the selfsame night,
pinches of dawn and daylight,
the selfsame giggles,
and the selfsame little fights,
all as exquisite as the first imprint
on my eyes' white,
hold me closer, hold me tight,
there'll be nothing left to recite.
Hand in hand, arm in arm,
just like the sand glass,
in which time fleets,
it'd be nice to have known
the night in the flesh,
and the necklace on her neck
with it's moon beads.

Indeed a french beauté,
the most luminous of faces
and a black beret,
she paints to seize the moon
as it gently caresses the rivers,
not knowing that she herself is,
the waxing gibbous.

Palm trees, streetlights,
dim strolls and caffeine,
her words and giggles
inches closer to morphine
and oh so giddy are the nights,
the reality just doesn't intervene.

Moonlight on our skin,
our manes are akin,
where will this "fin",
my blood runs cold,
my sanity runs thin,
for it's the same stars
and the same moon
culprits of a déjà vu,
just hoping the dawn isn't soon,
hoping this one never ends,
we'll worry about the "fin",
when the moon descends.

Oh the peculiar village,
her eyes carved out
from her visage,
thieved just to
look at the moon
and the stars' lagoon,
for the moon isn't the moon
the night isn't starry,
when not seen from her eyes,
she who seems married,
to the night sky of course.

The sun set on the pash
clouds, dirt and ash,
a little ways down the road,
looking back at the odes,
it'll be remembered
How she brought
a corpse to feeling,
staring, giggling at his ceiling,
how she was winter,
then it rained.