| As a bird you are constant at war,
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| so sharp and so early,
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| but the world was so weary before
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| so how can you expect me to rise in the last light of the moon?
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| Do you know what these feelings are for?
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| You dissemble, don’t show them to me,
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| But the world is not worldly anymore
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| so how can you expect me to be?
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| Not the low louse, not the starry mote mouse,
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| there’s no-one here are lower than me in this house
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| of the earth, o the earth,
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| come mimic the moon.
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| Lintel, lintel, over my door,
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| Load bearing brow of my galaxy,
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| Why don’t you break when you’ve broken before?
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| Banish my ceiling and vanish my floor?
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| And the world doesn’t hear us anymore,
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| we are poorer than sounds without echoes,
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| echoes and only echoes, no more,
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| engaging in raising the hollowest roar.
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| It’s the last round and nothing’s been found
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| save for numinous traces, lines in our faces, in the air…
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| You are lonely of late,
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| I am gone, in a state,
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| There’s nothing to tell you but wait for the earth,
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| O the earth to mimic the moon. |