Verse 1 From the gravity well to the cratered sea’s shore, the deputy carries the star Earth won’t honor no more. The prospector rolls his crawler where the regolith sings, old trails and new lies beneath the black sky’s rings. The hopper set down on the station rim’s edge, radar ghosts fading like a broken pledge. The deputies swear they won’t chase old ghosts through the halls— but the Moon settles scores when the vacuum calls. Chorus Fabulae Lunae… sing it slow in the night, where the joyful moon smiles with a cold satellite light. Thunder Moon tussles and Lunadyne’s fire, hoppers on the rim and the archive’s dead wire. Three days to Earth, but the truth travels slow— law is a shadow where the regolith grows. Prospectors and deputies, bound by the black, wearing the mask till the real faces crack. Verse 2 At the airlock they stand with three hours on the clock, the constable’s hand never far from the lock. The lawyers already know why the deputy came— the shadow’s dead hand moving pieces in the archive’s game. She locks eyes with the past she thought she’d outrun, while the vacuum outside swallows every last sun. Three days for answers, three days for a plea, the real story lives where the tourists won’t see. Bridge The mask slips in vacuum—billionaire, shadow, son— trust is a luxury when the air’s all but gone. Yet crawlers still roll and badges still gleam, and the old bar keeps the old stories clean. In the low-g hush where the tourists don’t tread, the real Moon remembers every promise unsaid. Chorus Fabulae Lunae… sing it slow in the night… (Thunder Moon tussles and Lunadyne’s fire…) Outro So here’s to the tales spun hard, cold, and true— science and shadow beneath skies without blue. When the next hopper lifts and the archive wakes, the Fabulae Lunae still calls the brave to the stakes. Under the joyful moon, where the dust never lies— come walk the regolith. Come live the disguise. Three days to Earth… but the dust don’t forget.
