The moon spills out over the water and it's light has never shined on me. She bleeds from her side, though her skin's not been broken. Says her salvation lies ahead, so hopefully. An easy way to ride. I can't help this saint along but I can place the pennies on her eyes and sing this martyr's song. Five boys left alone for the first time. She's says goodbye and I'll see you soon and turns out the light. That big white moon snuffs out today's last sunlight. To the west, now men, these boys readjust their eyes. She saw herself as the hammer came down. The candles float on the water. The roses dropped in and the drum began to pound and the Lord prepared a place for his daughter. A hole in the wall, punched through by the ivy, lets me watch this saint patch her wings before she moves along. That big white moon strolls out before me and explains he's only a mirror and until you get your wings, you'll always be an orphan of the sun.
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