Lullaby — Joe Jackson

Shall I stay or go

Through the door

Will the pen to flow

Watch the stars

Sleeps a chore

The moon is growing cold

It hangs like a sliver of tin

How do our dreams unfold

And why are my bones feeling thin

I watch my pen as though

My fingers could shatter like icicles

And before my eyes

Lie glittering and useless on a field of snow