Sometimes the hour of sadness
Hovers like a cloud
So fragile and so tender
Too real to talk about
A finger to my lips
A silent reverie
Just between the moon and me
O how the words unspoken
Linger on my tongue
Trying to convince me
That what is done is done
But I know what I wish for
When I’m counting sheep
Just between the moon and me
It’s a minor bird
In a minor tree
The song I know by heart
The key of you and me
And now the past plays tricks
On my memory
Tries to make sense
Out of what will never be
But I am just the prose
She’s the poetry
That’s why she will always be
Just between the moon and me
—Tom Prasada-Rao
[Lyrics written by a talented high school friend].
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