I know it's late, but I can't sleep
are doubts dashing across my pillow
me a lie, so I can relax. "It's all going to be
; tell me that one.
Feed it to me ever
so gently, because reality will hurt, tomorrow
will come crashing down on me, and tonight I
don't want to think. Please, tell me another lie,
so I can rest.
I'm so tired of having to
process the data I'm being fed, so sick of
sorting and storing. Hand me a tall glass of clear,
cold lies; let me swallow reality and embrace the
present, suspend a moment and die for the night.
Tell me one more lie, love, and then I'll be
able to sleep.