Something’s wrong with the moon tonight
How it’s running around inside my eyeholes
Like a drunkard returning home late at night
His wife wouldn’t open the door
But before I could shut my eyelids
It was inside my eyes
And what a hullabaloo!
As if it wouldn’t leave me till I cry
Till I die.
What’s wrong with you, my desolate moon?
What do you search?
Those flowers of hope wouldn’t bloom again
No more are monsoons of tears
Those grasses of dream are now dry
What do you want my desolate moon?
What do you search?
Shall I give you my endless nights
Unfinished lines of my palm?
Something’s wrong with the moon tonight.
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