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!