The moon is directly above. The moon is stained with blood. I know love's a curse and I know I'm in love. I got used to a face every night, thinking everything was passing all right. But now what I see is just murder to me, if I'm seeing things right. After climbing the mountain as tall as all my grandfathers head to toe, the moon is still directly above. Still stained scarlet with blood. And even if I travel all the way to Tibet it'll still be hanging over my head. But I know something will come, about the shape and size and colour of the sun.