The Dead of the Night

It is the dead of the night Oh the dead of the night I live on a dream, it came to me When I was young I brought it here, and now for years The streets of London keep it safe and warm Every morning it dies and it is reborn In the dead of the night I keep a pencil and a book I say this is how a life can look Russian roulette, French-kissed cigarette And the silence like an anvil The things that you learn, but now all that burns Is a candle And the fog melts over the night, and it softens the edges I begin to write in the dead of the night A bead of sweat runs down my arm And I drink it from my skin It is the most real thing that I feel It is communion Bless the meek Heal the sick Protect the weak In the dead of the night