In the Still of the Night
in the still of the night I lay my tired body down
thinking of your face so pretty and yet so sad;
is it a smile I see or a bitter frown against
the twist of fate in this cruel tide of time?
though my mind is filled with remembering
though my heart is shrouded with longing,
though half-meant words are said,
a sigh so sorrowful and low;
they all amount to nothing
for in the still of the night
you are not here with me.
now a brand-new dawn is breaking
and the rooster makes his lonely call
while the lonesome wind is blowing
against the window pane.
then the light goes off to nothing
just like the way you went away;
you left me writhing in the dark
alone and as cold as ever.
without you I’m blind to all I see,
so blind, so numb and so cold
like that harsh, stormy wind
that whips against the ceiling
in the still of the night.
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