Из альбома: Night Music
Shall I stay or go Through the door
Will the pen to flow
Watch the stars
Sleep’s a chore
The moon is growing cold
It hangs like a sliver of tin
How do our dreams unfold
And why are my bones feeling thin
I watch my pen as though
My fingers could shatter like icicles
And before my eyes
Lie glittering and useless on a field of snow