What If He Was Awake?

My head feels like a half-empty helium balloon,
Bloated and floating so slowly to the ground
Just like the heartfelt dying of the moon.

My bed is the centerpiece of the room
And because such silence is terrible sound,
My head feels like a half-empty helium balloon.

No one can enter or leave here too soon,
So one-eyed women just linger around
Just like the heartfelt dying of the moon.

In here there's no difference between midnight or noon
So we all drink whiskey like we're trying to drown,
Now my head feels like a half-empty helium balloon.

A newly single black swan is beginning to swoon,
Wondering down feeling quite well endowed,
Just like the heartfelt dying of the moon.

Now children are stamping and licking their spoons,
While men who were martyrs are not to be found.
And my head feels like a half-empty helium balloon,
Falling like the heartfelt dying of the moon.