Written by: Mark Norton

Blessed is the calmness of our impassioned night,
Forever bound to the passionate starlight,      
Unblessed is the sound from an old, rusting clock
 Inside this windows encasement; 
Oh but we lay here instilled with insomnia

Give me the nature, your intent and desire 
When in thought remains the product of your urges,  
The will relates to the capacity of our mind 
Implanted in the hunger for sleep;
But we lay here long with insomnia 

 Come listen, too silent the sound as we lay,
And hear the wind as it rattles the glass;
While blessed is a soul who lays until morrow
Staring at the windows encasement;
Hungering an end to insomnia