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Patterns -Simon And Garfunkel |
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The night sets softly with the hush of falling leaves |
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Casting shivering shadows on the houses through the trees |
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And the light from a street lamp paints a pattern on my wall |
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Like the pieces of a puzzle or a child's uneven scrawl |
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Up a narrow flight of stairs in a narrow little room |
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As I lie upon my bed in the early evening gloom |
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Impaled on my wall, my eyes can dimly see |
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The pattern of my life and the puzzle that is me |
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From the moment of my birth to the instant of my death |
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There are patterns I must follow just as I must breathe each breath |
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Like a rat in a maze, the path before me lies |
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And the pattern never alters until the rat dies |
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And the pattern still remains on the wall where darkness fell |
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And it's fitting that it should, for in darkness I must dwell |
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Like the color of my skin or the day that I grow old |
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My life is made of patterns that can scarcely be controlled |
