Awaken the children,
let them see;
all agony's within
and perhaps just maybe.
They would lose all hope,
all their dreams,
all feelings would cope,
not the moon's shattered beams.
Awaken the infant,
the one who's mild,
as the moon once crescent
now sings to that child.
All is lost,
so it may seems;
like floods of life in frost,
living on shattered dreams.
Sing a shattered tune,
so death may come.
All mourns the moon
and all becomes numb.
Sing this lullaby,
so all may hear.
The last tear becomes dry,
as morrow draws near.
Sing and awaken all,
let them see.
How easy it is to fall,
and just let them be.
So they may sleep
and fix all dreams,
for they're in real deep,
as they ride moonlit beams.