Feraland
Luftwaffe
There congregate clocks,
That drome without gears.
The fumblings of fingers,
Skilled in non-art.
That drome without gears.
The fumblings of fingers,
Skilled in non-art.
A semblance of time,
The semaphore lies.
Dead eyes reopen
In Feraland
An Augury burns
The valley rolls on
All lives abhorrence
In Feraland
All is reborn
In Feraland
The gaslight is dimming,
The street falls in shade.
Road formed in night-time,
Is nameless and fades.
Touching my temple,
Seamless and blind.
I weep for an opening,
An opening, an eye.
A million around me,
The semaphore lies,
The hour is one now,
A semblance of time.
A semblance of time,
The semaphore lies.
Dead eyes reopen
In Feraland
An Augury burns
The valley rolls on
All lives abhorrence
In Feraland
All is reborn
In Feraland
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