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Stars were made of steel,
trying to pull the sky down.
And I was reaching through the fog
trying to put my feet down,
but the whispering of wings
was lifting me in the black air;
a constant living breath that sings,
a world outside of anywhere.
And you said, “The nature of the night,
you can’t see by electric light.
It hides itself just out of sight;
you can’t see by electric light.”
There is endless space to move in two dimensions,
and so we pirouette—content in our illusions.
And there is nothing here tonight
that hasn’t been there all the time.
What is black is what is white,
like an echo that unwinds.
And you said, “The nature of the night,
you can’t see by electric light.
It hides itself just out of sight;
you can’t see by electric light.”
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