My box fan puts me to sleep,
It's sweet melody entrances me,
It spins around in rythmic motion,
Not going anywhere,
But covering enough miles to cross the Indian Ocean,
It is like an exercising bike,
It brings you health with movement,
As I drift off into the oblivion of sleep,
As it claims me as it's own,
Like an overbearing mother to her small child,
Unwilling to leave the convenience store without buying,
A candy bar,
It's the stranger in the van your mother is opposed to,
The quick sand on the jungle floor that drags you under,
You become submersed in a world all its own,
Of peace and stillness,
Quiet and comfort,
The only sound,
The sound of my box fan.