Bye June, I'm going to the moon.

He can't help it, the boy can't help it. You can find him scratching around in the dark, just another candle chasing a spark. You can find him screaming along with the ghosts, reminds you he's the one you needed the most. And then you're out, there on your own again; no one believes you when you lie. I still see all the old girls now and then, catching the moonlight as they cry. He can't help it, the boy can't help it. The wrong way round's the right way up when he calls. You can laugh but it won't mean nothing at all. Yes, you can find him scratching away in his room, stumblin' round by the light of the straggler's moon. And then you're out there digging holes again. Six million people can't be wrong. Some day you'll buy the perfect soul and then you can get back where you belong. And then you're out there on your own again; no one believes you when you lie. I still see all the old girls now and then, catching the moonlight when they cry.