| Up on a hill, as the day dissolves
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| With my pencil turning moments into line
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| High above in the violet sky
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| A silent silver plane — it draws a golden chain
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| One by one, all the stars appear
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| As the great winds of the planet spiral in
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| Spinning away, like the night sky at Arles
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| In the million insect storm, the constellations form
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| On a hill, under a raven sky
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| I have no idea exactly what I’ve drawn
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| Some kind of change, some kind of spinning away
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| With every single line moving further out in time
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| And now as the pale moon rides (in the stars)
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| Her form in my pale blue lines (in the stars)
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| And there, as the world rolls round (in the stars)
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| I draw, but the lines move round (in the stars)
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| There, as the great wheels blaze (in the stars)
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| I draw, but my drawing fades (in the stars)
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| And now, as the old sun dies (in the stars)
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| I draw, and the four winds sigh (in the stars) |