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.