1987

A solar storm
Burning us up on the side
Moving until we achieve
Being nowhere at all

The moon, the moon
The moon that guides and dazzles
And the heart that pretends to be decisive
But hesitates.

The night only delivers what it doesn’t promise
The compass spins
We’re in 1987

Laughing and laughing and laughing
In the echo of the abyss
The logic of confusion
Mirror and mirage

The moon, the moon,
The moon licking our fever
And the heart that only finds itself
If it gets lost first.

The world spins without knowing where it’s going
The compass spins
We’re in 1987