When day is done, perhaps I’ll sleep

Without the need for counting sheep,

and Lethe’s flow will drown my dreams.

The nightmares of nocturnal screams

all gone, although the price be steep.

 

If Thanatos decides to keep

me in his grasp, then do not weep,

for I’ll be done with such extremes

when day is done.

 

Across the Styx I’ll softly creep,

where you won’t hear me, not a peep

until such time the doom Death deems

to take you from these mortal schemes,

and to Elysium you’ll sweep,

when day is done.