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