I pity the moon;
the way craters litter his surface,
the way the stars outshine him,
how he eternally revolves around the Earth
and never has a second for himself.

I do! I pity the moon;
for he has no will, no desires,
no lover—not since Theia left him
and completely changed who he was—
his only friend is Earth,
and even she keeps him at a distance.

It’s true! I pity the moon;
since the day mankind conquered Earth,
and the Sun gave her all the attention.
The poor moon only knows
what it’s like to be alone
and brood in the cosmos’ cold embrace.

Surely, you pity the moon;
the moon who enviously watches comets fly,
who sees planets proposing with ornate rings,
who’s brutally whipped with asteroids,
bleeding dust and lunar ice.
Oh, I know—you’ve felt it as I do,
that same pity for the moon.