Its 4 in the morning, 

and I feel as if I am in mourning

 

I've been sleeping less

and staying up more,

The past keeps me up,

and I fear what's in store.

 

The clock reads 4,

and I feel as if I have been here before.

 

I am more accepting of myself,

yet sleep's sweet embrace eludes me.

The voices chatter incessantly.

Both parties wishing to be free.

 

4, I was told by my watch,

Oh the hours I have just watched.

 

In the night the voices steal my sanity,

and I fall victim to the sounds and the sights.

Reality and fantasy blur,

and I seek a way to tell dark from light.

 

At 4, they watch and stare,

I can see one now, on the stair.

 

The little girl cries out,

and the man stands over my bed.

And I thought both of them were real,

but, forget what I said.

 

I know its the morning at 4,

but wHo's side arE thse Little People in My hEad fighting for