There is freedom out there, in all that mystic fog, hidden among the great repose of dreams
It hates the rivers, yet loves the railroads in violent fits of irony and steel
Follow me, sweet specter tell me everything you know about echoes
We shall feast tonight off of the golden plates, at the heart's dark table.
The libations will be only of the earth, but the meats shall be of the divine
God only blesses the fools and the drunks, so lift your glass and dance on the edge of the cliffs
We've waited so long for this famine to end, parched earth and pursed lips, and still no rain
Yet the oceans will come, in tiny drops, as dawn stands forth to meet the moon with windy arms
As we dance again in the dryness of the desert, the basin that yearns to someday be a sea
Our feast of gods and eclipses contort to meet our brittle bones left wanting for a drink
God only blesses the fools and the drunks, so leave your blessings to chance that the dice are never loaded
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