Sleeping on a train, slipping through the snowy night.
Headed who knows where, maybe Moscow or Madrid.
Maybe this time I’ll out run myself and my demons.
Maybe this time I’ll find a pretty face smiling back at me.
The moon shimmers behind my rapid eyes.
A silvery light in the unknown places I roam
while my soul leaves my body to go wandering,
while I lay helpless, asleep, unaware.
And the snow flakes go untasted on my tongue.
Maybe in the morning I’ll be in Rome or Tel Aviv.
Sleep is the only peace, only time Satan can’t find me.
Sleep is when I find a pretty face smiling back at me.