Cotton blankets let in the cold
Cotton blankets let in the cold,
dreams will not take shape;
in this hotel room the guttering lamp glimmers,
nearly goes out.
Midnight, two o'clock, four in the morning —
no human sounds at all.
I listen to the wind, listen to the rain,
listen to the sound of the pines.
dreams will not take shape;
in this hotel room the guttering lamp glimmers,
nearly goes out.
Midnight, two o'clock, four in the morning —
no human sounds at all.
I listen to the wind, listen to the rain,
listen to the sound of the pines.
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