In early December, warm, dizzy, drunk and beaten, The moon sits up high and watches the streets. While slowly inhaling, too poor for liquor or love The old man, smokes to the filter.
Unforgiving of all this, excepting of all this, Pale as the moon he crawls, to the beat the snow falls, And Wilted he counts down his days, And waltzes away.
Punctured and swollen, bruised, but forever fighting, The moon is alone singing for everyone, Raising their glasses, warm, dizzy, high and hopeful, Two lovers elope away from it all.
An exception to this, the world spins on their axis, To the sound of a sparrow call, or the beat of the snowfall, They lose themselves in gentle sway, And then waltz away.
The burning white embers, will help you to remember That you are not alone in this, spinning against the axis. [line in french I've forgotten how to spel, forever in tune, They all waltz away.