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Fools will find it boring.
There's an ancient story
A Romany lady
Conjured up the moon
With prayers that lasted till dawn;
Tearfully she begged her
For a day when she would
marry one of her own.

“You will have your husband, swarthy woman,”
From the sky the moon declared her omen
“Yet as only payment,
I will claim the first-born
Brought about by his touch
She who trades her own son
Not to be so lonesome
Wouldn't care for him much.”

[Chorus]
The moon would like children
But she cannot find love
In the darkness above
Tell me now, moon of silver
What you'd do with a son
Made of flesh and of blood

She would like a moonchild

She did find a husband as was promised,
A dashing Romani, skin like honey
But when came a baby
It was pale and grey-eyed
Snowy, luminous moonchild;
At its sight the man cried
“The boy's from a white guy!
I won't stand for this lie.”

[Chorus]
The moon would like children
But she cannot find love
In the darkness above;
Tell me now, moon of silver
What you'd do with a son
Made of flesh and of blood

She would like a moonchild

Seemingly betrayed and honour damaged,
Mad with thoughts of vengeance and of carnage,
He went to his wife
And brandishing his knife
He plunged it into her heart
Then went up a mountain
With the newborn babe
And left it there in the dark.

[Chorus]
The moon would like children
But she cannot find love
In the darkness above;
Tell me now, moon of silver
What you'd do with a son
Made of flesh and of blood

She will have her moonchild

So now every night when the child's smiling,
The moon will be round and brightly shining
And if he starts weeping
She'll become a crescent cradle for him to sleep in.

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