She cannot sleep. She cannot sleep. She cannot sleep. She tosses and turn, tosses and turns . . .
If I were a songwriter I'd have a lot of good material. I'd have to be a blues singer, I guess. Poor, poor, pitiful me. What a silly goddess I am. What do I need with sleep? It just interferes with living my life anyway. If I were not up right now, I wouldn't be playing scrabulous with the Puzzled Goddess. I wouldn't be enjoying the complete stillness of a quiet house, or the starry sky outside my window.
May peace and quiet be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.