A wool-knit sweater to keep out the chills
And a hot cup of tea to swallow the pills

A blank television sits atop a wooden shelf
And a quiet nightstand stands all for himself

Hunched and unlimber, he walks to the window
The pale moon stares as the stars hang low

With his wrinkled hands, he covers his face

The moon shines bright on better days
The moon shines bright on better days