Thereís a crescent moon over Markham, hanging low in the eastern sky

So I point the motor down ninth line, Iíve already said goodbye.

In the cool damp air of the cornfields the birds swoop low oíer the rows

And I watch in renewed amazement as the day takes new life and glows.

Thereís a crescent moon over Pickering, down Markham road I fly

And the lights on the water-tower blink red-eye as I go by

The early-morning traffic is impatient to make its start

And the moon grows faint and the sky grows bright, and heavy grows my heart.

Thereís a crescent moon over Scarborough, and the sky casts a rosy glow

With the moon at my back I set off on the track to a place I already know

And the trees stand silent sentinel as I motor over the ridge

And the road drops down to the heart of town from the Don Valley Parkway bridge.

Thereís a crescent moon over Weston as I sit in the donut shop

For as usual Iím far too early, and I usual Iím forced to stop.

And the sun peaks over the warehouse as I sit not far from your house

And I know youíre asleep, I can see you in bed, curled up like a dormant mouse.

Thereís a bright red sun over Milton, right after the morning news

And I wish that again you could dance with me in your flat-soled brown-strap shoes

And the highway stretches before me, past the border and beyond

And behind me beckons the love of a woman of whom I have grown so fond.

Thereís a night sky over the city as I sit in the motel room

And the light donít work and the shower headís broke, thereís a general air of gloom

But I know that tomorrow morning, no matter this sky how black

Thereíll be a moon in the Eastern sky Ė and Iíll be heading back!