(the sister of sleep)
He was thought of as strange
A good looking man
And shallow eyes
Like two hidden from view and
Empty puddles of hue
His views on death
Spread like two anecdotal tales
Although he reclining declining
To disclose in public
The tales held the key
Death is the surname of sleep
But the surname unknown to us
Sleep is the daily end of life
A small exercise in death
Which is it's sister
But not every brother and sister
Are equally close
Giving to the enemy
A small exercise in submission
And holding onto nothing
(from Peter Murphy's song "Shy")