Strumming a guitar, in the silent night.
The echo of chords, take off in the distance.
A melancholy melody of better times,
Rings through the crisp air.
An audience of one watches from above.
The man in the moon.
The man in the moon.
I always seem to give up on myself.
All alone, and nothing for miles.
Except for this here guitar,
And a pocket of ideas.
Fluttering like butterflies,
They want to escape.
But no one will hear them,
Songs for the deaf.
I always seem to give up on my dreams.
As silence overcomes the power of me.
The man in the moon,
Doesn't even applaud.
As the spotlight above me fades.
The curtain will close.
Goodnight, my dear friends.
There's nothing more that I can do.
The words I speak are empty,
The chords I play are silent.
The fire burns itself out.
Forever an artist,
Never a flame.
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