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The city is alive below us still,
its light orbs moving placidly, in tune; camminando.
On the coldest of nights we sit above them,
sit on the great stone hill atop the river banks,
the hill who watches the world grow weary with each passing hour.
Sit and sleep, Chariot, your horse will wait.
Take in the constellations,
whose east and north and west and south
can be seen clearly from our leave on the megalith.
Rest your mind, in all its quick splendor and riches,
for I will comfort you, strong Chariot, and give you tranquility.
See how the river slows down in the night,
her cold gray stream flows silently among the black banks,
coasting ‘til morning, ‘til the dayspring.
And it shall be a good night, sweet Chariot,
for love flows through cold and heats the souls of those who love.