The headlights multiply
As the blue hills rise
In the pale gold sky
Too long, too long
The never visible day
We've waited long enough
To see the sheen on quonset huts
The eerie glare of what is real along the streets
But the shadows too will grow too large
And speak of too many things
The dead lights comfort will not suffice
For the faces worn away by waiting
For the train that never came
The last illumination will go out
So it may begin again
The first scows of morning
Will plow through the night
To the same remembered daybreak
Where the hint became an urge
And they moved upon a miracle of silence
