The Night

Night time,

City sleeping

Cool air, clouds drifting, where

The crisp white devil casts its

luminous eye on the scene

 

But night isn’t your time

with your drunken forays

through dead end streets

 

Where you all fuck each other

senseless, hoping to feel something,

anything, to make the dullness

less sharp

 

It’s our time

 

We roam the nights,

we work our hands,

we make the miracles

and the things of which

you dream

 

For what hope would you,

trapped in your daily hells

and mundane lives have, if you

could not dream

 

Dream of the heavens we build.

 

There are no kings.

They are dead.

Long live the kings.

 

There is no god.

He is dead.

Long live god.

 

There are no men.

Man is dead.

 

There are only us.

We rule the night.

The darkness shrouds

us, and holds us like

its lost, guarded children.

 

For there is only the night.

And we define it.

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