My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.
Hello, darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said: «The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence...»
Tonight I'll sing my songs again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me
In shades of mediocrity.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.
Cлайд с цитатой