After the day is gone, and the night’s shadows caress the hills, I sit contemplatively in the quiet darkness. How sweet the dreams of sleep seem to me, yet I stay awake, fear in my stomach, wondering about so many things I cannot control. I think I will throw up, or take a sleeping pill, or pour a simple glass of whisky. The evening is drawing to a close, but I am terrified of bed.
O my King, how small my faith;
O my Father, how little I trust.
Strengthen me, O God,
for men cannot handle very much truth.
Tale Told 