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Hello darkness, my old friend, |
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I've come to talk with you again, |
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Because a vision softly creeping, |
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Left its seeds while I was sleeping, |
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And the vision that was planted in my brain |
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Still remains |
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Within the sound of silence. |
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In restless dreams I walked alone |
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Narrow streets of cobblestone, |
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'Neath the halo of a street lamp, |
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I turned my collar to the cold and damp |
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When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light |
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That split the night |
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And touched the sound of silence. |
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And in the naked light I saw |
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Ten thousand people, maybe more. |
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People talking without speaking, |
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People hearing without listening, |
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People writing songs that voices never share |
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And no one dare |
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Disturb the sound of silence. |
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"Fools" said I, "You do not know |
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Silence like a cancer grows. |
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Hear my words that I might teach you, |
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Take my arms that I might reach you." |
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But my words like silent raindrops fell, |
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And echoed |
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In the wells of silence |
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And the people bowed and prayed |
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To the neon god they made. |
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And the sign flashed out its warning, |
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In the words that it was forming. |
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And the sign said, "The words of the prophets |
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Are written on the subway walls |
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And tenement halls." |
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And whisper'd in the sounds of silence. |
