The fantastic outriders of victory in the good advantage of the night,
Relay their rapacity piety virtue spite and false tenderness in the dark:
The autumn rivers and the great sky are of the same hue.
He would say: To unravel a tangle one does not grasp the whole skein
And on the endless road ahead one is today and yesterday but
Something of tomorrow in the blue. Ghosts and troops react in
Mysterious ways, a violent windstorm suddenly arises, the gate to the
Field clangs shut. Give your names, please. The future may yet be saved,
There is no secret about these movements: come one, one killed;
Come two, both killed. Mental illness is the true political, he would say.
Knowing the state is destroyed, I tend to agree with him now;
Ask leave to do battle murder sudden death: lines of convergence,
The perfect moment. Committed neither to night nor day
He was always there, whatever the weather
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