Whitacre: Sleep

The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread of 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 dreams 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
As I surrender un-to sleep

Sleep, sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Sleep, sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep
Sleep, sleep, sleep