[night]
The moon has a light,
tonight it's bright.
But don't it feel dark, my friend?
The moon is a mirror,
gets the sunshine here.
Don't it feel like moon'll never end?
The night's never been this young,
don't want it to get away from me.
Been drinking malt too long, now
my belly's gotten away from me.

[passing out in the car]
Making my knees buckle,
like a newly born calf or
kids trippin' in the desert:
stepped on a cactus
and bit the bristles out.
I commune with the moon,
ask whence, wherefore the doubt?
What sorta secret have I got
that shows in my eyes, my hands, my locks?

[asleep]
It's the moonlit kind of blues.
I can't—I won't choose.
The moonlit kind of blues.
Nothing left to loose.

[morning awakening]
I was nothing but lies last night,
and now in the morning light
don't it don't feel right, my sweet?
I swept all my prints,
I haven't gone there since.
I don't even know which way to creep.
This too shall pass
but want to feel bad lil' less.
The lapses come so fleeting.
**** it, save yourself, ride the feeling.

[back in dreams]
Lou Reed died today
while we made okay.
Boy, he sure knew alot of ladies,
and they sure all had alot to say.
I commune with the moon,
ask will I be alright?
What sort of song must I write
to get pieced the pie, to make it out alive?

Moonlit blues...

[awakened, spiritful]
California drought!
Suddenly I'm running out.
Try to cry or laugh
and lose yourself in cold, cold draft.
California dream!
Born with it, it stays it seems.
I try to explain,
not much to say anyway.

California drought!
How did I get out!
California's south!
And with it my running mouth!