It was name of a hotel where girls danced
And men sent creepy fingers down them.
It is now a low hanging fruit on blue sky
With two moons a month, extra for love.
Men and girls now get cardboard moons
To get their love hanging in a staged sky.

Once a blue moon we may feel immortal
With two full moons with the bluish tinge.
We like to keep cardboard moons hanging
When we feel loony that time of a month
And girls feel creepier with men’s fingers.

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