gistfile1.txt

Take my hand, let's look back, release the tether
from the dark nightmare that ghosts rock and roll.
Longer, lower, they want to starve the day.

Enormous, tiny thing. There is often glory in the silence.
In the middle of a dream that grasps with hot hands--
longer, higher, it raises the new day.

Feel, how the mind pulls ahead of itself [/gets out of its bed]
and feel everything that will be, that was, and that is,
now.

Knock on the door. Throw it open like never before.
Out of a reality that defends and clothes the certain.
The hungry often feed [/give birth to] the glorious day.

Feel, how the mind pulls ahead of itself [/gets out of its bed]
and everything that will be, that was, and that is,
now.