Ballad of the Moon Moon

Moon came to the produce

in her slip of nard

The kid endlessly looks

the kid checks the Moon out

In the violent air

Moon lifts up her arms

appearing — unadulterated and hot —

her beaten-tin bosoms

Run Moon run Moon

Assuming the wanderers came

white rings and white neckbands

they would pulsate from your heart

Kid will you let me dance —

at the point when the wanderers come

they'll track down you on the blacksmith's iron

with your little eyes shut

Run Moon run Moon

I hear the ponies' feet

Leave me kid! Try not to walk

on my path of white starch

The horseman came beating

the drum of the fields

The kid at the produce

has his little eyes shut

Through the olive forests

in bronze and in dreams

here the vagabonds come

their heads enjoying some real success

their eyelids hanging low

How the night heron sings

how it sings in the tree

Moon crosses the sky

with a kid by the hand

At the produce the wanderers

cry and afterward shout

The breeze watches observes

the breeze watches the Moon