I hate the morning, I hate the night
Lie down and die, tell me some more
Don’t go to sleep, don’t leave me alone
The dreams: of changes, suffocation
Loss of speech, pursuit by monsters
Or of endless logical argument
Awake and watching you sleep is worse
The stores are closed, no buses run
Homicidal maniacs prowl the suburbs
And the happy phantom of my greatness
Wakes and grasps this pen, leaving
A heap of used-up words to read
After a morning dream of music.
