I lay beneath the willow tree,
3 a.m. skies to see.
When darkness stirs
and each movement of her's
makes me feel uneasy.
When cigarettes are left unlit,
and to sleep most submit,
quietly, quietly goes the night.
She lays beneath the willow tree,
4 a.m. whispers surround me.
She is sleepy, it's clear,
but still she's here,
simply speaking.
When demons are dead
only in her head,
but come alive in my mind.
Quietly, quietly goes the night.
We lay beneath the willow tree,
5 a.m. approaching sadly.
When time creeps along,
caught in snares of lullaby songs,
and morning dew is fresh.
When day is here
and I'm filled with fear,
will she stay here with me?
Or be lost into the
Quiet, quiet night.
