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Blind bow spirit,
Stars are tears falling with light inside.In the moon, they say, is a sea of tears.It is well known that the wind weeps.
How all things shatter, fall away, and break.In this time of my great happiness I passAnd repass the gates of the Holy Ghost
The light is a grinder of knives jangling his bellsFor seven in the morning. He is all the steeplesIn the town calling for whatever this day must be new made.
I will not sleep.Men sleep and the beasts sleep, and no one watches.The paid watchmen going their rounds