It’s five in the morning
The moon hangs over a cloud:
Just as lonesome as I,
Wondering, if silence is just as loud
As a future goodbye.
I have no promises to fulfill;
You have none that you can keep;
The moon whispers none to me:
Gives me no certainty of sleep,
And of rest, no guarantee.
I shall see you again now;
But, after a while, you will disappear.
There will be just me and the moon
And it has always been clear:
A heartbreak is due very soon.
Promises are futile. They break.
Once there is a parting, it is done.
Love has no say in the sundering.
All will be left to dry out in the sun
As stark daylight comes plundering.
It will charge out, in a dust and a storm,
And words will be torn and taken,
To different lands and different skies,
And I shall once again awaken,
When the cruel sun tires out and dies.