Insomnia

I'm writing here, lonely
One o'clock in the morning.
Flashlight, journal and pen.
Writing a song again.

The window's open, drizzle falling down.
Insomnia, the word I hate the sound.
If only I could fall asleep.
If only I could dream.

I hold my pillow tightly
and spin my head 'round lightly.
The memories
are holding me
away from the light
all through the night.

So as I fall onto my bed
and gently try to clear my head.
I know this disease is something more
than an insomniac disorder.