Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.
Hello, darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision

That was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence



In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

Beneath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed

By the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence



And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share...

And no one dare

Disturb the sound of silence.