These are the dizzy days, my dear
The times of tired eyes
The ills of an insomniac
Have made a strong reprise
With tunes of troubled restlessness
And dreamless, desperate sighs
This messy, migraine-ridden mind
So hopelessly complies
Meets all demands of moonlit hours
And city’s starless skies
Awake until the dawning day
Requires it to rise

A weary head is much too weak
Though wears a stronger guise
But cannot bluff itself to sleep
Though desperately it tries
Attempts to teach its tumbling thoughts
That they must not surmise
For guessing games are only good
At weaving pretty lies
And working up a mass of worries
To leave me to despise
This problem path that only leads
To peace of mind’s demise

These are the dizzy days, my dear
The times of hopeless sighs
The ills of an insomniac
Should come as no surprise
Not bed nor sheets nor pillows soft
Nor soothing lullabies
Can quiet all the quaking thoughts
Behind these tired eyes
The messes made of sleepless nights
Will make no rushed goodbyes
Will send me stumbling on and on
Until the mind’s demise