Everything seems magnified by the quiet majesty of the wee hours; those hours in which I feel a conflicting numbness between my desire for sleep and my drive to succeed. It’s 2AM and I’m drunk on my own potential. I write a lyric, sketch a face, find self-soothing, lose it again. The clock is ticking and the intimidating sneer of my 8 o’clock wake-up time is in my face again, like it has been during so many other nights filled with fitful longing for hazy dreams. To sleep is to succeed at this juncture. Where does that leave me? A lonesome warrior fighting a conflict-filled battle for her own soul. Lay me down, let me sleep, so I might have my soul to keep.