Answer:
Half-way up the hill, I see you at last, lying beneath me with your sounds and sights. A city in the twilight, dim and vast, with smoking roofs, soft bells, and gleaming lights.
My thunder comes before the lightning. My lightning comes before the clouds. My rain dries all the land it touches.
I am the heart that does not beat. If cut, I bleed without blood. I can fly, but have no wings. I can float, but have no fins. I can sing, but have no mouth.
What gets beaten, and whipped, but never cries?
What runs around all day. Then lies under the bed. With its tongue hanging out?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?