Sleep

Eric Whitacre

The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon.

Upon my pillow, safe in bed,
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep, my mind's a-flight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.

If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, flickering light
Then I surrender unto sleep
Where clouds of dream give second sight,

What dreams may come
both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep.

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