“Sleep is a waste of time,” he says
as if he’s racing against the clock
sitting up with a madman’s pen
he scribbles until after dark
His eyes are faded, his mind’s afire
But there’ll be no rest for him this life
There’s much too much to do, it is true
And much too much little time
There isn’t time to delay he says
We don’t grow young, we get gray
Sleep is a waste of time he says
More feverish and frenzied each day
But these visions I’ve seen, they come through dreams
whether waking or no, I can’t say.
But the best that I know, it always goes
will also, one day, fade.
It seems to me, to sleep to dream
is the only way to avoid collapse.
“Sleep is a waste of time,” he says
but I could really use a nap.
