[sleeping sickness]

I awoke only to find my lungs empty, and through the night.
So it seems I'm not breathing. 
And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be.
And I'm breaking down, I think I'm breaking down.

And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me,
such as living with the uncertainty 
that I'll never find the words to say
which would completely explain
just how I'm breaking down.

Someone come and someone come and save my life.
Maybe I'll sleep when I am dead, but now it's like the night is taking sides
with all the worries that occupy the back of my mind.
Could it be that this misery will suffice?

I've become a simple souvenir of someone's kill,
and like the sea, I'm constantly changing from calm to ill.
Madness fills my heart and soul
as if the Great Divide could swallow me whole.
Oh, how I'm breaking down.