There’s something calling
from the blue moon ascending,
and the light of the bonfire
sweeps over your skin.
I light a smoke and don’t think twice
about how I hadn’t in six months.
The past doesn’t count,
when night is falling.
When night is falling the joker’s wild.
It’s dare or double dare;
no room for the falsehoods of truth.
Graveyard statues see the night time
breathing freely in the fog,
Repentance burns away the day
and small creatures come to life.
Slow song from the Ovation guitar
and the lake is a mirror.
In perfect formation the birds dive low,
low tides and lowlands,
this place is a willow;
strong in a storm but gentle as the lamb.
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