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« In hills, and in pools illuminated,
We hide in the worlds we have created;
With all of this space—nothing to ground us—
We watch as the world crumbles around us.
The longer you stay, the more I feel scattered—
Weird that you thought that anything mattered—
And I’ll follow you into the attic—
Into the dark, into the wet, the melodramatic—
Make it bright. Make it good. Keep it moving. Keep it on.
Make it bright. Make it count. Keep it wild. Keep it high. »
