Sleep On
Fred Schendel, Steve Babb
Sadly they howl, the bitter wind blows
Hopes are but dreams that melt as winter snows
Yet here they loom, as the dread grows
Grim, and arrayed in dismal phantom rows;
Sleep on dreamer
Sweetly they sing upon the night air
Running their hands through my golden hair
I am a slave to their promises
My hopes are ever calling
Sleep on dreamer
They come as lovers and they come as dreary
Heralds of woe
Should I follow, should I go
Sleep on dreamer
