The Man From 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, above he would loom,
They say he was the man from 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 his mind far gone,
They locked up the man from the moon.
From his cell he would gaze out a dim window,
A measly thing, from which he saw his home glow.
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 sad tune,
In that small cramped one-window room.
And there he laid down to dream of his home, how he would sing, and how it shone.
His dreams became labored and he never did rise, the sad shackled man from the moon.