“The Idiot’s Lullaby” – by Christopher Goudreau

Sing to me, sing to me
Sing me a song
On thin fascination, till windings undone
The idiot’s lullaby that sang to me in dreams
Half remembered for what it would seem

They’re once on the table a heart out of stone
Coveted like rubies from depths of unknown
Back when the east was crossed from the west
I’ll sing you a lullaby of the lost to protest

Sing to me, sing to me
Sing me a song
Of strange fascination, where nothing belongs
Into the torrent and cursed at the dawn
The idiot is laughing with silence withdrawn

And when sleep comes on mellow sunders
On a lullaby that has wrought for all wonder
The last of simplicity was once what I thought
I held so close, like gold that was sought

Sing to me, sing to me
Sing to the sun
Of strange revelations, where all is the sum
Till fountains of reason are trapped in a gaze
Tell me, oh tell me why no others have stayed

And mountains of crystal yearned for the clouds
Till fortunes have lamed and the idiot is proud
And late came the morning upon its approach
Where nothing exists but inside our hopes

Sing to me, sing to me
On broken shards to come
The prophet of nothing and the messiah of none
The idiot’s lullaby is yet to be sung
On strange dreams of futures, fade to the sun

Sing to me, sing to me
Of sleep yet to come

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