In The Dead of the Morning

in the dead of the morning my eyes are burning from lack of faithful sleep that used to come to me like mosquitoes right on schedule to the feast like dust motes to settle down inevitably

in the dead of the morning my neurons are burning from lack of sober sleep that used to inebriate me like two liters of iced tea every twenty four hours like dolfenal two-fifty everytime bleeds the flower

in the dead of the morning my blah blah blah what the hell.