The song of the moon unheard from bellow silenced through filters though, allows things to grow. The moon calls to earth. We say nothing back but send men to greet her no smile they crack.
She longs for her sibling who's just out of reach. She's sick and she's wounded as her old bones do creak. The moon sings of loneliness of silver and cold. While men strive for riches and think only of gold.
She wishes companionship to hold someone, dear but her great arms lie barren year after year. So she sings to the earth and she talks to the stars and nothing speaks back from her cold empty arms