Continents on the moon

We turn our weary heads

Looking in the clear morning sky

Devoid of the sun

To the moon, bright and clear

And it's surface is covered

Raising cotinents on the moon

tangible to the imagination

So we ask each other

because we can't think straight

If there's a man in the moon

Looking back to us

There's sand beneath our fingers

but we stand on concrete

watching the man in the moon watch us

We've been up all night

There are dark circles in our eyes

But we peek the continets in the morning

Let them peek at us back

Let our heads float, separate from our painful bodies

Let us meet the men in the moon