We lay the night in anguish, snakes drawn out by the tide. The compass of decision falls always on one side. But many went before us, and still the cries are clear.
I wouldn't want to go home on a night like this. When I find out that some of the past has been missed. And the light in the window has burned it's fuse.
A score of years this line has run. Above the crests that drown the sun. A mile high the turbines turned. The stokers sweat, the monkeys burned. . I will carry you home with the gods in my eyes.