The Dead of the Night
S. Colvin 

   It is the dead of the night
   Oh the dead of the night
   I live on a dream, it came to me
   When I was young
   I brought it here, and now for years
   The streets of London keep it safe and warm
   Every morning it dies and it is reborn
   In the dead of the night

   I keep a pencil and a book
   I say this is how a life can look
   Russian roulette, French-kissed cigarette
   And the silence like an anvil
   The things that you learn, but now all
   that burns
   Is a candle
   And the fog melts over the night, and 
   it softens the edges
   I begin to write in the dead of the night

   A bead of sweat runs down my arm
   And I drink it from my skin
   It is the most real thing that I feel
   It is communion
   Bless the meek
   Heal the sick
   Protect the weak
   In the dead of the night

    Source: geocities.com/hollywood/academy/3225/Folk/Shawn_Colvin

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