MOON PEOPLE

What of the man
Whose hands never clasped
Whose cold dead fingers
Did fondle the earth
And consider his might
And what he was worth
What of the times
Spent longing for more
When all that could come
Is an open door
And through the door
Must your heart belong
In order to join
The ecstatic throng
So sing with me dear
Sing with me lad
That we might dance and be glad
For the MOON PEOPLE COMETH