What wisdom flows from the dark side of the moon?
What sounds from incredible strings of bands?
As we stare at the Totnes moon
What white heat is in her hands?
The lunatic is still on the grass,
Eugene still sharpens his vengeful axe
You lock the door and hide the key
But he will find a way to pass.
Continue to climb the hill in your own way
But know you’ll never walk alone
Except in winters depths
The Totnes moon was there before you
Wending its light to Paul’s book shop
Edging the shadows of the Totnes narrows
Where carnivores eat tofu
So as to hide their shames
The busker singing out of tune
His guitar case so full, so soon
For him to buy his passage to
The dark side of the moon.