The sun slides below the horizon,
Like silver over ice,
Burning across the sky on its descent,
Receding as you please.
Winding the broken clock,
Swallowing the stars' light,
Hiding in the shadows and the smoke of their dying flames.
The moon falls to Earth,
Its light like oil on water,
Shattering a lightless sky,
And igniting a frozen world.
The mountains stand on the horizon,
Like so many slates of solace,
The victors of this lonely world,
The winners in the dead man's race.
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