The little me held the Moon closer at night,
as if afraid that it might run away,
and leave me all alone.
Now the Moon holds me,
as if I might stop loving it, and leave.
How very wrong it is.
The little me held the Moon closer at night,
as if afraid that it might run away,
and leave me all alone.
Now the Moon holds me,
as if I might stop loving it, and leave.
How very wrong it is.