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by Mathew Cheung

The glory of the day will fade,
Into a place of unknown light.
It's just how the day was made,
Of colors not found in the night.
But ask you me what be the fate,
Of those in dusk and dawn?
Where are they to lie and wait,
As day and night goes on, goes on?
The time in between, in all it's glories,
With mystical colors in the sky.
The flying pixies, nymphs, and fairies--
On a cloudy whale's back they ride.
Sprinkling their dust on Earth's head,
In a fantastic display of play.
Turning the living from the dead,
Making a new night into a new day.
Some say it's better in the day,
Some say it's nicer in the night.
In the day the colors dance and play,
In the night is the hidden light.
I prefer when fairies sing,
When nymphs dance around the sun,
When the dust from a pixies wing,
Falls on Night and Day's new son.
Follow not me and chase the light,
For I choose my own path,
My own struggle, my own fight,
My own demons, and their own wrath.

Copyright 2002