And when the sun bled o’er the hills,
the moon, she held her breath
and watched as all grew silent, still
to mourn the queenly death.
And as the burning throne she took
from on a lonely height,
I felt her eye upon me look,
a soft and dewy light
that seemed to promise everything
in wisps of pallid fire:
a thousand hopes, now quickening
in shadows of desire.
But all these dreams, they barely keep
for one night in my head;
I wake to find their remnants–heaps
of ashes in my bed.