Whitacre: Sleep

The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened doon
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 aflight
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 unto sleep
Sleep