| 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
|
| In restless dreams I walked alone
|
| Narrow streets of cobblestone
|
| 'Neath the halo of a streetlamp
|
| I turned my collar to the cold and damp
|
| When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
|
| That split the night
|
| And touched the sound of silence
|
| 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
|
| No one dared
|
| Disturb the sound of silence
|
| "Fools," said I, "You do not know
|
| Silence like a cancer grows
|
| Hear my words that I might teach you
|
| Take my arms that I might reach you."
|
| But my words like silent raindrops fell
|
| And echoed in the wells 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." |