The first thing I knew about her
Was that she was absolutely goddamn certain
That there wasn't no such thing
As a man who lived in the moon.

That's nonsense. She said.
Dangerous nonsense.
That's the kind of nonsense that leaves hearts cracked,
With dreams cratered and spinning...
That's the kind of nonsense that takes your imagination to the back alleys
That fills the ears of your imagination with a hard whistle, and a broken breeze
That fills the mouth of your imagination with sweat, and fear, and dust
That fills the eyes of your imagination with breathless white rock and cold sunshine.

If there's a man on the moon,
It makes you wonder where he's hiding
Where he came from.
Makes you wonder, like...
What's a fella got to do to get himself put up in the moon?

Where’s the backroom poker game with stakes that high?
What kind of liar’s wish? What kind of tidal pull?
What kind of glory-seeking dope would want what he might find there?
I mean, how lonely would you have to be?

You ask me, to spend your nights staring down 
at every hope-worn up-gazing sucker
would make you want to pull a cloudbank over your head and pray for rain.

Must've been some kinda chump, she said like the black switch
of a cat with its back to you for good this time.
She dropped that fella like a wishless coin in a fountain.
Because why waste your breath on a man who runs away into the sky.

She had it all figured out.

I’ve been in orbit long enough, I’ve come to expect broken rings.

And if I ever meet the guy responsible, I’ll close that circle myself.

See, someone told her this bullshit
back when she wanted to believe,
like Santa Claus and honest love.
The kind of believing that takes hold, like gravity
that won’t let you go, but will let you fall.

You can’t fool a woman who lives by her own elliptical logic.
You can’t lure her into talk of tomorrow.
She knows the light will be different then and she might not be able to see .

So if you happen to run into her, just keep your questions to today.
Don’t ask what she’ll be doing later,
whether she’ll be near or far, full or half

Because one thing I know about her is that she’s absolutely goddamn certain
there isn’t no such thing as a man who lives in the moon.

There isn’t no call to be going outside after dark.
There isn’t no sense staring up making wishes
And there isn’t no good to be found when daylight’s gone
and the moon is bright with his own disbelief in us.