The robins are nestled in the nest
The leaves stop breathing
And the limbs droop and rest
This the night at its best
There's a queer silent playing in my head
An atmospheric pressure instead
No real thoughts I can conjure up
And no catchy words to spread
If I was to awaken you from your drooling slumber
Would you answer or ignore the number
And after all the *** words that spew from you mouth are spent
In the morn you'll think it's a dream
remembered.