Sing

Sing, sing sing
You workers of the night
Sing like the grinding of rocks
Sing like the crashing of tools
Sing like the wails of the high wind
Sing like the anger of the darkness
Sing like the twisting of metal
Sing like the agony of farm oxen’s
Sing like the ripping of garments
Sing like the clanging of falling silverware

Sing like the crunching of soles on gravel
Sing like heavy breathing; like the snore that fills the night
Sing like the scrunching of paper
Sing like the busy horns of rusty cars
Sing like them some more; Like more of those rusty cars
Sing like the rumble of deprived stomachs
Sing like the roar of airplanes
Sing like the marching of disoriented soldiers
Sing like the pain of childbirth
Sing like the heart of the broken
Sing like the charge of the aggressor
Sing like the bleating of the desperate sheep
Sing like these lips are fit for singing

Sing, you workers of the night
Sing as loud as you toil
Sing, that slumber may be scared away from you
Sleep, that the night would run for cover
Sing, so the morning will plead the sun to quiet you
Sing with all thy might and aggression, oh you
Sing loud, bold and horribly
Sing, O you workers of the night

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