I wrote a long letter to the moon one day. It isn’t brighter than you, but I lit a small candle. The nameless bird that sings in the park at dawn: where are you? Oh you...

Why are you crying? It’s only me and you here. Me and you, oh you... Your singing voice that follows deep into the night, brings the scarlet morning. One step, then another step.

Dawn passes by and when that moon falls asleep, then the blue light that was with me disappears. Today, too, I go on living just enough, keeping in step, wearing my feet out just enough.

The sun makes me breathless, the world has stripped me of all I have, without a choice, with no other alternative. Under the moonlight, I am picking up my scattered self. I call you moonchild, we are the children of the moon, we draw breath from the cold air of dawn.

Yes, we’re livin and dyin at the same time, but right now it’s alright to open your eyes because like any movie, like any dialogue (from a movie), the whole world is blue under the moonlight.