Where Angels Fear to Tread

I don’t care at all
about the darkness succumbing,
ready to envelop the sky into night.

There is light
on the other side of the earth.
And darkness feels like light
when you think in that way.

As the earth slowly turns,
my guts turn also—
churning with fire,
with vigour a'plenty.

The flames of the sun.
The night in the earth,
the day in the earth,
the bright of the stars,
the land of the moon.

People come,
people go—
where angels fear to tread,
and return,
and lose themselves
on a damp night,
under a misty moonlight
(or is it sunlight?).

They disintegrate, to fall back into one again.

Or they lose themselves.
Finding nothing at all in the night.

Then—
gathering their voices—
the sun comes on,
and chanting, like madmen…
They turn daylight into aether, dust into stone.
Stone back to sheer nothing!

So comes the break of dawn

after a long day’s night.

A poor man’s sigh,

an old man’s laugh,

a tough man’s fight.

After all—
the young will remain young
as time rolls on.

The youth’s not gone.

What’s gone is us…

In the technicolor light — illusions of beauty—
but beauty is only found in fighting every day — and night.

and in really living

every turn you — who are still here on this earth — take.