The streetlights are missing, or all smashed up;
I can’t see the sharp curves and borderlines—
I used to hear it all so loud, my heart aching,—
But then again, you’re being kinda quiet—
And all the things I wish I could’ve said,
(Though I’ve sussed out all,) 'twould start a riot!
I am frightened of what I will become to you in the end;
For today, let’s join arms and put out the howling moon,
And the night becomes brighter when you’re in the room—
I can’t even speak; I flick my lighter; I am unprepared to die
And when the ground gives way and the trees undulate,
Together, we’ll fly further away from this wretched place.—
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