Her breath fogs the windowpane 

her thoughts are circling the drain

she’s giving one last show 

to the city down below

​

Now she's taking off her dress

it hits the floor, room's a mess

Luna's sitting on a book

giving her a puzzled look

 

She remembers an old friend

who said death was not the end

he would tell her many lies

she would sing him lullabies

 

Like a tightrope act at night

with one leg and poor eyesight

she was never truly sold

on the perks of growing old.