Above the dark highways on a black tar roof stood the sad milkman in love with the moon.
She filled up his window with soft milky light till he crawled up the chimney and into the night.
But, the moon she rises and the moon she falls and her slow white eye sees nothing at all.
Down on the sidewalk a crowd gathered round flinging up bricks and bottles to knock the boy down.
He stood up above them with his hands in the air calling up to the moonbeams, "Come let down your hair."
He wanted to feel like a bucket of milk or sweet summer wind on rolling, green hills.
He wanted to fly up from the roof sailing up through the night wind to the arms of the moon.
She filled up his window with soft milky light till he crawled up the chimney and into the night.
But, the moon she rises and the moon she falls and her slow white eye sees nothing at all.
Down on the sidewalk a crowd gathered round flinging up bricks and bottles to knock the boy down.
He stood up above them with his hands in the air calling up to the moonbeams, "Come let down your hair."
He wanted to feel like a bucket of milk or sweet summer wind on rolling, green hills.
He wanted to fly up from the roof sailing up through the night wind to the arms of the moon.