The stars hang over the moor,
Like fairies at Heaven's door.
Casting their light on earth's floor.
By these men navigate seas,
and monsters do as they please.
Hiding in shambolic leaves.
What mysteries unfold here,
The legends of old so near.
The land feels the holy fear,
That Night were to be master,
A magician type caster,
Or the waif's form of pastor.
Molding land and stars like clay,
To desecrate the good day,
And teach the world It's own way.
The moors are thus affected,
and by the Night protected,
Through the stars It collected.
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