лантанский бес
How are we on a scale of one to ten?
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 in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more,
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening.

But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence.