Nightman Lyrics

	At the dead of night, I woke
	with the sense that my dreams were escaping,
	all uncannily unspoken
	like words at the tip of a foreign tongue...
	As for language, I have none
	to express quite what strangeness overwhelms me:
	something's changed and something tells me
	to be still in the roar of the distant stars.
	The night's full of fire, ice and water;
	by day I'll have clay in my hands.
	The book is open at a well-thumbed mark
	the odds are stacked that I'm facing.
	Eyes grown accustomed to light and dark
	can't catch the shadows they're chasing.
	Open, my heart, to the vital spark –
	a disordered rhythm is racing,
	it's a danse macabre I'm tracing.
	As the fire feeds the flame,
	as the tongue finds expression in its flickering,
	does each breath inform a name
	to be dispersed just as soon as it's exhaled?
	Was it to myself I came
	or to some other strange and parallel existence?
	Will I ever see tomorrow,
	to wake and begin it again?
	Open, the book at a well-read page,
	hope triumphs over expectation;
	open, the secrets of seer and sage
	in awe-inspired anticipation...
	Open, my mind in the body's cage,
	unchained in consecration;
	open, my eyes, to the wider stage
	the firestorm of liberation –
	the night in conflagration.
	With a shiver down my spine
	I come back to the place where I started;
	the sea of consciousness has parted
	but stranded is all that I feel for sure.
	As nightsight declines into darkness
	by day there'll be clay in my hands.
	I may feel the clay in my hands.

	At the dead of night, I woke
	with the sense that my dreams were escaping,
	all uncannily unspoken
	like words at the tip of a foreign tongue...
	As for language, I have none
	to express quite what strangeness overwhelms me:
	something' s changed and something tells me
	to be still in the roar of the distant stars.
	The night' s full of fire, ice and water
	by day I' ll have clay in my hands.
	The book is open at a wellthumbed mark
	the odds are stacked that I' m facing.
	Eyes grown accustomed to light and dark
	can' t catch the shadows they' re chasing.
	Open, my heart, to the vital spark
	a disordered rhythm is racing,
	it' s a danse macabre I' m tracing.
	As the fire feeds the flame,
	as the tongue finds expression in its flickering,
	does each breath inform a name
	to be dispersed just as soon as it' s exhaled?
	Was it to myself I came
	or to some other strange and parallel existence?
	Will I ever see tomorrow,
	to wake and begin it again?
	Open, the book at a wellread page,
	hope triumphs over expectation
	open, the secrets of seer and sage
	in aweinspired anticipation...
	Open, my mind in the body' s cage,
	unchained in consecration
	open, my eyes, to the wider stage
	the firestorm of liberation
	the night in conflagration.
	With a shiver down my spine
	I come back to the place where I started
	the sea of consciousness has parted
	but stranded is all that I feel for sure.
	As nightsight declines into darkness
	by day there' ll be clay in my hands.
	I may feel the clay in my hands.

	At the dead of night, I woke
	with the sense that my dreams were escaping,
	all uncannily unspoken
	like words at the tip of a foreign tongue...
	As for language, I have none
	to express quite what strangeness overwhelms me:
	something' s changed and something tells me
	to be still in the roar of the distant stars.
	The night' s full of fire, ice and water
	by day I' ll have clay in my hands.
	The book is open at a wellthumbed mark
	the odds are stacked that I' m facing.
	Eyes grown accustomed to light and dark
	can' t catch the shadows they' re chasing.
	Open, my heart, to the vital spark
	a disordered rhythm is racing,
	it' s a danse macabre I' m tracing.
	As the fire feeds the flame,
	as the tongue finds expression in its flickering,
	does each breath inform a name
	to be dispersed just as soon as it' s exhaled?
	Was it to myself I came
	or to some other strange and parallel existence?
	Will I ever see tomorrow,
	to wake and begin it again?
	Open, the book at a wellread page,
	hope triumphs over expectation
	open, the secrets of seer and sage
	in aweinspired anticipation...
	Open, my mind in the body' s cage,
	unchained in consecration
	open, my eyes, to the wider stage
	the firestorm of liberation
	the night in conflagration.
	With a shiver down my spine
	I come back to the place where I started
	the sea of consciousness has parted
	but stranded is all that I feel for sure.
	As nightsight declines into darkness
	by day there' ll be clay in my hands.
	I may feel the clay in my hands.

YouTube Results (More on YouTube)