Diamond dust in the lunar breeze,
rotating rocks in the open seas.
The stars are dirty from too much need
their words are written in second hand grease.
The monster knows our lucid dreams,
it’s hint of tail in vivid green.
The curse of noise is better seen
on photographs and TV screens.
A thirsty crow sits on an empty tree
for it’s spring to grow then pick it clean.
Bring a hammer down on to our knees,
we’ll still dance for you then wash your feet
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