He lives in the castle of dark blue mist, smells lavender, or at least that is how i like to imagine it. He howls his ballads thru night air, as an effort to take the hand of the moon and ask Her to dance. “A dreamer” i thought of him “The brave one at least” i added the thought. And what that makes me, really. He howls and howls his heart out to the empty sky where the moon resides, in the impossible distance. Woman are in and out of the dark blue mist, the story tells he has been fucking them by the window where the moon can witness, suppose to make Her jealous. His bravery makes me feel so small, my fingers even get numb tapping the letters of “fucking”. I am shrinking, but i can not turn away, believing his words could lead me to my own redemption. Cause, I too want to dance with the moon.