The Night Is Young

In the night when I can not sleep, when I dream about dreaming when even God is sleeping and the devil is out looking for lost souls. I think about silly things, I think about the baker who just woke up, his poor wife, leaving a warm bed for a warm oven, the small old security man counting every minute regretting ever being born. The garbage man desperately thinking of how to find a woman. All these poor men who are not allowed to sleep. I slowly smoke my cigarette illuminating the city with every drag. I dedicate every puff to all these lost souls. The night is young the stars are out dancing accompanied by the moon, like an old wedding orchestra and their seasoned company, they know each step, each rhytm. And I am alone with my pillow thinking of all the beautiful women somewhere, somewhere far away. In Paris, Buenos Aires, Beijing New york Addis Ababa and even Beirut. What are they doing what are they thinking??' God is asleep the devil is out working, my question is blowing in the wind.. I dream a little dream of them and hope they dream a little dream of me. Because in lala land everything is possible.