Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again.
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Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping
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and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.
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In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone
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¡®neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp
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when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
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that split the night and touched the sound of silence.
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And in the naked light I saw ten thousand people, maybe more.
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People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening.
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People writing songs that voices never shared, no one dared disturb the sound of silence.
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"Fools," said I, "you do not know, silence like a cancer grows.
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Hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you."
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But my words like silent raindrops fell and echoed in the wells of silence.
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And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made
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and the sign flashed out its warning in the words that it was forming.
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And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
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and tenement halls and whispered in the sound of silence."
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The Sounds Of Silence
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Dickies |