Brown eyes and are we tired
We had walked and we had scrambled
Through the moors and through the briars
Through the endless [ ? ] abyss
In the blue August moon
In the good August moon
For the nights and through the fires
We went searching down the wires
Through the towns and on the highways
Through the storms and all their thundering
In the good August moon
In the good August moon
Then we rested in a desert
Where the bones were right as teeth [sunk]
And we saw St. Elmo’s Fire
Splitting ions in the ether.
In the blue August moon . . .