The lid is shut. The darkness grows. Instead of cheers — a silence flows. Your elbow pressed against my frame, To midnight nights we’ve come again. Do you feel the cold of empty pages? Outside the box, the house is still, We’re sleeping here, against our will. The Master turns the stage light down, He left us here, in puppet town. Just sawdust and an old canvas skin... It doesn’t hurt... It’s not forever... Our race is frozen, just for a night. In this box... Quiet and narrow... We’ll wait until the snow turns white. Tomorrow he will take us out, Beneath the lights, we’ll spin about. The steel hinge will turn once more... But here, in dark, is our true floor. Sleep, my paper friend. Lights go out...
