Stick 170 - Moon of Old

The Moon of Old

You wanted me sold
my soul turned stone cold

You willed others to borrow me
the moon turned my blood to ice thrice 

You watched as others became my friends
the slither moonbeams sprinkled peppered screams

You waited while I waited and never said a thing
the moon became a dark moon and I lay alone in a spoon

You withered your love and coated it in wind storms
the moon was now real old and my price of loss became tenfold