Insomnia

In the small hours of the morning under silver salted skies I am fast asleep while wakeful and I see through half closed eyes Though my bed has long been calling I am gazing at the stars Hearing moonbeams splash around me like the riffs of grand guitars Tiny diamonds that twinkle at the visions far below While the East now starts to brighten with the morning's golden glow A cacophony of birdsong brings the message to my ears That the dreams of half a nighttime aren't the author of my fears All that keeps my from pillow is the thought that sends me blue I could spend all night in dream-scapes and not dream my dreams of you.