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As black and white curtains, mothworn and torn
Creep over the sky with blue cotton
Dead angels weave asteroid tangles adorned
From the bones of those skies long forgotten
Gold - pure gold, is the light from behind
Jewel silver the light from the back,
Laughing pink, sorrow red, rainbow time - all arrayed
Outer colors all march in attack
Still the curtain is strong, and the angels are armed
Thus the evenings grow dim and grow dimmer
Yet the angels decay, and the colors all thrive
Yet the war will one day have a winner