Behind the glass, the moon held vigil,
and moss bloomed upon its face.
Three were we: they, I, and solitude,
behind the glass, the moon, the moss.
Two forms reflected in this wavering glass,
two forms,
and with me, a mad lover, too.
Behind the glass, the moon, the moss.
Silence yielded only more silence, long, vast.
Their words we heard, our own we spoke, at last.
Behind the glass, the moon, the moss.
Behind the glass, the moon, the moss.
Three were we: they, I, and solitude,
behind the glass, the moon, the moss.
And moss upon the glass.
And moss upon the glass.
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