What if I told you

the moon is made of naphthalene

chewed at the edges?

What if I told you

dark clouds lash venomous rain

clawing at its face?

 

(the moon itself is scarred

by the cold evil it spawns

its wounds never to heal)

 

What, then, if I tell you

that moonshine is, well, moonshine

and counts for nothing?

And yes, what if I say,

those moon songs are all fake

and never meant a thing?

 

(no man on the moon, no lady

weaving dreams of  silver thread…

only the stench… of decay instead!)

 

Well then, what would you do?

Would you still walk with me

to that naked path upon the hills?

Would you still hold my hands?

Would you smile with me, look into my eyes

and drink in the moonlight: cold and shrill?