Seek the immaterial between deific pillars
Over hollows filled with wrong and right
Over hollows filled with coruscating light
Over hollows that only at night, shine bright
Flicker along the length of a kite string
To power your new machines
Fed on magazines and cracking beams
And the empty sound of tearing seams
Falling through the well, eleven cries:
"I am the way between
They call me heresy
Can you see with your own eyes?
Can you hang on for the ride?
Can you forgive the ones who died?
Can you accept that somebody lied?
And finally find a place to lie
Away from every weary eye
In the light of the crown
Where the highest branches down
Sephirot's shaking boughs
Toward this chaos we call home?"
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