Here I sit,
on the edge
of my bed,
up an hour,
words in my head.
Words are there,
but my hand
won't work.
Is it the
work I shirk?
I don't know,
but I need sleep,
if my body,
it's soul to keep.
Here I sit,
on the edge
of my bed,
up an hour,
words in my head.
Words are there,
but my hand
won't work.
Is it the
work I shirk?
I don't know,
but I need sleep,
if my body,
it's soul to keep.