Oh how the artists of each generation thrive on the long lonely hours of the night

How they lurk each and every corner of quiet and stillness
How they ponder waves of truth and meaning only found in the dark

Oh how they unknowingly move mountains in their sleep

How they build bridges and pathways only the brave walk upon
How they strike up their fists in chime with each strike of the clock

The clock chimes in
Six strikes ring
the light breaks in
The artists are rising