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night timre flight  

The rain below is spreading filling up the drains but its not affecting me, I just keep going on, content to be moving with my mission. 
I once heard someone say that a moving is either an escape or a going to. Well this is a date with someone coming, not a business thing, its a surprise of course, a memory of something more, just adore the empty space of him.
I am choosing my own fate, keep on cruising, can’t be late.
As a matter of fact, it was in Pudding Lane. 
Met him at the stop, he said his name, I tingled and I trembled with the hearing of his voice. Said he was a dancer but condemned to dance alone. He was oh so, good, they were jealous, so they pulled his visibility and put it in a cage.
But I will be the one that gets to greet him. 
This night, in my father’s sleep, I took his keys, stepped down to the bars and bundled up the dancer’s suit. So now I will get to watch him move and perhaps I will step along with him, so there.

Of course I know he’s good, he’s as true as wood which never ever lies.

You’re making me late with your questions, goodbye. 

How can you say that?
The flying horse has to be there, 
otherwise I would be falling through the air.
Use your sense.