The Song On Insomnia

When the world is hush and sound,

Bottles up and down,

Like a kleptomaniac tip-toes on the ground.

A companion arrives in the dawn.

Singing all rocks and blues,

Why are we friends, I have no clue?

But we will make the night through

While the coffee we brew.

The sleep slaughterer,

Depressed's daughter.

Am I supposed to be in fear?

Or should you visit a doctor?

Nights are the time of nostalgia.

Diseased or a part of phenomena?

Dickens faced it in the reign of Victoria.

Here I sing my song on Insomnia.