The strains of a thin song are coming from the corner of my room.  
I cannot remember how it goes  
But the wire tones pain my ears  
And bring points of memory spark into my sight  
I hear the rumbled murmur of voices saying many things at once.  
Where is my sleep?  
Somewhere in the dark, beneath my pillow  
Underneath the blanket, where it's too warm to breathe  

The minute hours of morning stir troubled  
Moving back into nausea from a short black relief  
The pain turns real and holds my head against the bed.  
It throbs with every scream from some sympathetic voice  
Locked in the underpart of thought.  

Out in the world where men walk back to work from surburban  
   bedrooms  
And a million uniforms push buttons to move the city's hands.  
A clock ticks neatly to keep everyone on time  
If I were anyone I'd throw that thing
   into the street before it rings  
Instead I'll lie here and swell my eyes  
With tears I should have cried before,  
Touching the empty place beside me,  
Wishing with all my heart I had.