Silent men night nursing
Their wounds so open and clean,
Cutting years off progress
With an unspoken blade.
But pity them not
They are young men again!
Young with passion full of fear
And a sea of decisions
To carry their bones forward
And drown their souls here.
At night sailors speak
To Mozart's remains, so empty
And quiet in the curve of the blue,
But his first was well worth
The meaningless few.
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