every other girl is being chased
by the short hand of midnight
to leave their prince charming
before the stroke of twelve
and arrive home as normal ladies
sleeping with the memory of their trysts
under their pillows and inside their dazed minds
unknown to their families and even their animal friends
hiding away in secret gardens

i struggle a few hours earlier than them
singing for a love unsure
to break my curse
before the dusk seeks my soul
and drags me down
to the depths of turbulent undercurrents
where memories are drowned by time and space
and only the noise of rushing water
clashing against cold blood can be heard

i must find this love from one above the land
where his kiss will unseal the words of my hand
and i think i've found this love so true

but how am i even able to swim to him
when he only lives and shines in the dim
--when he's the man who's of the moon?