Cycling gently through the night,

In the shadow of the mind,

A figure I guessed appeared before my eyes

A good or bad angel; I can't decide.

The blue moon in the basket in my bike,

Which I tendered to my hike.

The moon has cracked and the creature is born,

It will reign until the night is gone.

Tommorow I will find a new moon,

With the sorrow memories of the previous boon.

A mere mirage of a friend appears before 

And splits in half underneath the shine.

With new hopes comes another day

Annihilating the hopes of another devil born gay

To fill my heart with hope again,

I set of on my bike for another day 

To find another blue moon alike

To save the world from a holocaust of night.