[Written by Steven Wilson]
|
|
At the age of sixteen
|
I grew out of hope
|
I regarded the cosmos
|
Through a circle of rope
|
So I threw out my plans
|
Ran on to the wheel
|
And emptied my head
|
Of all childish ideals
|
The sleep of no feeling
|
I married the first girl
|
Who wasn't a man
|
And smiled as the spiders
|
Ran all over my hands
|
Made a good living
|
By dying it's true
|
As the world in my TV
|
Leaked onto my shoes
|
|
-----------------
|
The Sleep Of No Dreaming
|
| Porcupine Tree |
