WALKING TO THE MOON    (©Words and Music by Paul F. Cowlan)

This song draws on the rich mythology of night’s most beautiful luminary. I’ve always been in love with erland, she hung so low above the mountains as to seem almost within walking distance. I’ve never been so close.


Walking to the moon, I made my own mistakes.
With nobody to tell me exactly what it takes.
I'm not complaining, though the road was hard to find.
Rhyme or reason never even crossed my mind.

The mountains of the moon are higher than you dream,
and after first impressions, they’re not quite what they seem.
Visions in a mirror. Slow down and take your time.
Climb them when you come to them and don't be afraid of flying.

Nothing weighs the same, the pace of life is slow.
Dust lies on the oceans as deep as fallen snow.
There's a Chinese princess who keeps the stars in tune,
and you can live for ever if they like you, on the moon.

Jack and Jill climbed up here when the well ran dry.
A white hare mixes medicine, winter swallows fly.
And Cain still gathers firewood every afternoon,
deep in the cinnamon forests of the moon.

Mare Serenitatis.
Sinus Iridum.
Mare Foecunditatis.
Mare Imbrium.

Lacus Somniorum.
Mare Frigoris,
et Mare Vaporum.
Lacus Mortis.


Promises you made yourself that you could never keep,
secrets and surprises stolen in your sleep.
Planet Earth is rising, blue above the dunes.
Anything is possible for travellers on the moon.

Moonlight in my head helps me see things straight.
Lovers met too early, strangers met too late.
All my songs and stories have holes in their shoes,

dust in their pockets and a dose of the Walking Blues.