Transition

The line between sleep and wakefulness
Is the best hallucinogen one can get
It creates a dreary colourful world
In a time of everlasting regret

The disease comes to you for free
And stays until you go away
It hunts until the waking hours
Remorselessly searching for a pray

The value of sleep is often lost
In a world populated with weary men
It's a cost everyone willfully pays
And their eyes are left broken

Anxiously inching towards dawn
Rest comes even to wretched souls
But what of those without a chance
To fill the void, the gaping hole

The memory depends on perception
Too often it cannot work alone
A sight, a smell, a forgotten touch
Ancient pains in creaking bones

And when it partially arrives at last
It doesn't serve to wash the pain
In the world of dazed insomniacs
Only the sleeping man is insane