think not of the sun
burning bright and beautiful;
but of the rejection it shows when it sets.
it's not there for our happiness,
but to hold up the system-
it could care less for cancer, for the frights in the night,
but for its love, the wind, that blows wildly.
think not of the moon in its full glory,
saving you from the darkness, the fear;
but the wherewolves and lunatics it reveals,
and distress in your heart it creates.
It won't care if you get swallowed up in the woods,
by a bear or a wolf or a lion;
but its true love is the water, that rises to it,
and would kill for one kiss for eternity.
But when you're alone, in dead night,
in the winter,
Think of me, in your bed for your pleasure.