I shall miss seeing the moon when I've died in my bed.
With a mound of cold earth on top of my head
The soil keeps me warm as my past life doth dawn.
For tonight the moon wears a beautiful silver aura,
Her face bright white on this cold night.
I shall miss seeing the moon when I'm dead in my bed.
The moon a pure lady.
Good God, I adore her.
(c)LIVVI