The Man on the Moon

Won't you look up t'the face and see it hang?
It's on invisible threads, and on it he sang.
He hummed a tune during day and a song by night,
He was mighty and gay and could see all from his height.
From his castle his home, from above he would loom,
They say he was the man on the moon.

He gaze went far, and the world he watched as it went from love to battle,
Longing to help he jumped down to the ground, and fought to end in shackles.
Thinking him crazed and a raving loon,
They locked up the man on the moon.

From his cell he would gaze out a window,
A measly thing, a small box with three bars, you know.
Tears brimmed in his eyes as he looked up to home, and he said in a voice small and meek,
"My home I can see, and like a treasure I'll seek,
A way to get back to the life I once knew,
This world was far prettier from my old view."

And there he sat and sang a tune, in that small cramped one-window-room.
And there he laid down to dream of his home.
His dreams became labored and he never did rise, the shackled man from the moon.

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