At night all the birds Return to all the trees Up on all the hills Where the fog first touches all. How they sleep in the cold fog On the twisted trees! At night When the golden light fails All the people on the street They head to the trees as well, a thousand Dreams of endless possibility, they trudge In the twilight up the hill. Ah the end Comes heavy in a heavy fog. As I close My eyes new shapes appear. I lie beneath the "stars and shake".