EXACERBATION
by Alvin Benatovich - August 31, 1970
Then comes the night
When sleep eludes every try
And thoughts rack the brain
Until you'd like to die.
With every muscle
Tight in strain,
So very tired
With the pain
Tossing, turning,
Waiting for dawn;
In this game
I am the pawn
Who calls this tune
Whose melody makes me cry?
Who keeps the time
Which rhythm lets me try?
With the light of day
The questions all heard,
From sleepless nights
The mind is blurred.
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