| "Insomnia of Words" |
| Being a thinker isn't good, When one is trying to sleep. The words keep crowding through one's head, As the hours on do creep. The endless ticking of the clock Bears down so heavily on me, Matched only by the steady rhythm Of thoughts flowly so freely. I toss and turn, and turn some more, My body feels so dead. Yet all the movement of myself, Only mixes everything more so in my head. The distant noises from outside, Draw my mind away Yet still give more food for thought, And it starts all over agian, to my dismay. And so the sun comes slowly through The tranquility of the cruel night, And a new days rises without heed, To my insomniatic plight. |