The hand is hugging midnight and my eyes just won’t sleep:
Into the dark abyss of thought my mind is sinking deep.
For what reason is this world, with all its mortal things?
The suffering of children and the debauchery of kings?
The hand is one past midnight and my eyes just won’t sleep:
Through the dancing rain, wet despair begins to creep —
The emptiness, the night, are driving me insane,
No relief from the drumming of the pounding rain.
The hand is two past midnight and my eyes just won’t sleep:
But they too, like the solemn clouds, soon begin to weep.
Again it arrives, the haunting memory of a ghost —
My darling of silken flesh, whose soul I loved the most.
The hand is three past midnight and my eyes just won’t sleep:
Something must be done, if my sanity I wish to keep
The poisonous ambrosia sits quietly on the shelf,
It’s the only elixir that could save me from myself.
The hand is six past midnight another dreamless night,
The sandman ends my torment as the sky is turning bright.
The empty bottle clinks, the juice is now long gone
And I finally fall asleep, at the break of dawn.