Up on a hill, as the day dissolves. With my pencil turning moments into line. High above in the violet sky. A silent silver plane - it draws a golden chain. One by one, all the stars appear. As the great winds of the planet spiral in. Spinning away, like the night skyat Arles. In the million insect storm, the constellations form. On a hill, under a raven sky. I have no idea exactly what I've drawn. Some kind of change, some kindof spinning away. With every single line moving further out in time. And now as the pale moon rides (in the stars). Her form in my pale blue lines (in the stars). And there, as the world rolls round (in the stars). I draw, but the lines move round (in the stars). There, as the great wheels blaze (in the stars).