The night is that faint noise you hear when you’re paranoid.
The night is what you’re afraid to admit.
The night is what pushes the day’s destruction to the red carpet.
The night gives you too much time to commit.
You know, I have this wrist watch on my dresser.
It’s broken, and it always starts beeping at two in the morning.
I used to say that it was my mom’s angel telling me I should be in bed, bless her.
But I was dumb, thirteen, and in mourning.
The night has a bad reputation, understandable I guess.
But the morning is just as bad.
You’re in plain daylight and you still can’t see the world
– and you still refuse to understand.
It’s like.. The moon is a spotlight, a small one that tries.
But the sun is flaming and begging at the start of it’s rise.
And still we avoid it, because it hurts our fragile eyes.
So we shield ourselves from the burn and have the nerve to lie.
I pick at the paint on my bedroom wall till that watch starts screaming.
Then I pick at the lock on my heart, in order to try to go to sleep.
I say to myself, “Be content, adjust, continue..start dreaming.”
Because we both know that even our nightmares can’t compare to us when we’re weak.
Though night brings out our thoughts, so does a broken radio.
Someone once asked me if there’s such a thing as thinking too much.
Clearly they haven’t had their worst memories replaying in a sideshow.
But I admit we have to accept what makes a gunshot feel like a touch.
Don’t be blind to how you feel.
Understand what’s fake and what’s real.
Sleep for energy, dream for reality, but live for mortality.
Hold onto that wrist watch till it’s fixed or it’s so broken that it stops.
And always remember to be found, is to be lost.