There's never solice in the night
When sleep deprives you of a pillow
Just stale troubled thoughts
Or every day paranoia.
Toothpaste breath begins to fade
And the bedside water sits and warms
The mattresses comfort is replaced
By aches and itch and aggitation.
You lie beside me convulsing, twitching
In an ever restlesses state
Im sure you pretend not to hear my pen scratching the paper
Fighting not to turn and peak.
I wish I had a miniature fishing rod
To sink into your ear as you sleep
To fish out dreams and thoughts
A tool which may prove fatal.
What if I hook a mine and not a mermaid?
Such conjuring thoughts swim away with me
As I lie, stiff and wide awake
Stiff being the operative word I would prefer
If chance would have that I could woo a sleeper.
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