If we recognize the melody
Of the song they play in the faraway club
Far too loud, we can sing along if we choose,
And it's better if we do.

Our voices heavy with almost-sleep
And our bodies trodden by the hard days and the dreadful nights,
We will sound dreadful too, for the night is our father.
But we will still sing.

The club has its loud song
And it springs from their lips while it sprouts within our hearts
For our sisters of the night are cold, and mask it with their voices
And we have a right to the same comfort, and so together
Joyful or mourning
We will sing the same song
In different, jarring keys, with wildly different motives.

-D.


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