12 August 2012
• This is an adaptation/translation of a Spanish folklore song. All the writing techniques are by me: no direct translation, only the theme and story of the words.
Son, remember that old story Carved in memory with ancient tune Of a lonesome, gypsy woman Who called upon the fickle Moon.
And she asked it for a husband One who'd carry her safely home. One with dark, smoothest skin And brown-sugar eyes that always shone.
The fickle Moon it consented Granted her that miracle But it asked a heavy price The woman's firstborn of all.
Oh why'd you do that evil silver? Why make her cry? Why, oh why Ask a mother for her child Up to the sky, the dark, dark sky.
The child born of gypsy father; His skin was white as moonlit bone His hair golden as the stars. By moonlight sown, by moonlight owned.
He gazed up at his mother Her eyes so green, so softly bright. His as blue as the waters In which the moon bathed at night.
The gypsy father could not stand this Rage ablaze, he faced his wife And whilst accusing of betrayal Spilt her blood with a cleaving knife.
Oh why'd you do that evil silver? Why make her die? Why, oh why Ask a mother for her child Up to the sky, the dark, dark sky.
The father took his cursed child To the dark and silent hill And there he left him to the wild For it to do its savage will.
Fickle Moon, are you content? You have your child of blood and skin But how can a goddess love a mortal. He is not yours, he's not your kin.
They say that nights when Moon is full The child sleeps a dreamless rest And when he cries, Moon will wane To cradle him close to her chest.
Oh why'd you do that evil silver? Why spin that lie? Why, oh why Ask a mother for her child Up to the sky, the dark, dark sky.
Son Of The Moon • Opuss № I