The little grey crow with the hollowed eyes of my endless drowsiness
He always flew about my bed
I thought he had finally flown South for the Winter
But I suppose he was only sight-seeing

Dulling slumber that leaves translucent scars
I can't wake when dawn is beckoning
And I can't even wake when I have occupations
Oh, hollowed eyes why do you make me lie?

Descending into the horribly familiar abyss
I'm already only holding on by a string and a grey feather
My ankles are tied to two heavey weights
It's so hard to keep myself from plummeting to my end

He's flying about my bed again
I have so much to do still
But I can't get myself to stay awake
The dulling stitch of slumber, I suppose, must sew my eyes again.