The Living That Die

The moon in the sky,
Hangs from a chain.
It watches from high,
all the pain of living,
that the living let die.
This time we see,
is a preciouse lie.
I'll yell it to
the blood red sky.
We laugh to little,
and always cry.
While endings come
we say good bye.
No time for you,
or you and I.
Stars and hearts
could never lie.
And we will live,
while the living die.

Okay, I really hate this poem.