The Midnight Moon is perched above the second sun.
So kiss me while the moon is high, before the gleaming Moon dips his feet into the sky.
He is old to me but young to you.
Trembling in his ghostly glow, with words I shall never show
I wish for a souvenir of this night
In which the Moon doth bestow himself among the second sun.
Make it true; make it true, I pray as the Moon slides slyly and discreetly down.
Impatiently wondering as I do if my dream will prove true
Within this blackened sky of tinted blue.