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hello darkness, my old friend, |
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i´ve come to talk with you again. |
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because a vision softly creeping |
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left its seeds while i was sleeping. |
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and the vision that was planted in my brain |
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still remains within the sounds of silence. |
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in restless dreams i walked alone |
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narrow streets of cobblestone, |
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´neath the halo of a street lamp |
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i turned my collar to the cold and damp |
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when my eyes were stabbed |
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by the flash of the neon light, that split the night |
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and touch the sounds of silence. |
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and in the naked light i saw |
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ten thousand people, maybe more. |
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people talking without speaking, |
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people hearing without listening. |
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people writing songs that voices never share |
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and no one dared disturb the sounds of silence. |
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´fools,´ said i, ´you do not know |
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silence like a cancer grows. |
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hear my words that i might teach you, |
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take my arms that i might reach you.´ |
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but my words like silent raindrops fell, |
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and echoed in the wells of silence. |
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and the people bowed and prayed |
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to the neon god they made. |
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and the sign flashed out its warning |
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in the words that it was forming. |
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and the signs said, the words of the prophets |
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are written on the subway walls and tenement halls. |
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and whispered in the sounds of silence. |
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