1 September 2012
The gentle tick of an ornate clock, The oaky creak of my antique bed The firing of the boiler's flame As heating tickles radiators The luxurious gush of fresh hot water Gaily gurgles in the pipes The sigh and snore of the sleeping house And blessed lifebeats pulsing in my ear The familiar round of a favourite tune Running a repeated groove in mind The whisper of the distant road The whistle and breath of loved-ones' dreams The melodic song of waking birds The rush of dawn wings by windows
I wish they'd all fucking shut up. I have work in four hours. Four. What do I have to do to get friggin' Sleep in this place? Is that poetic enough for ya? IS IT?
Night Sonata • Opuss № I