Sorrow for Sale

I am the spirit looking down from the celing. I am the boy in the creaky bed.

I sold my last teardrop to
A boy
A boy tangled in a thin sheet twisted
Up in his dark room,
His dark bedroom in
A creaky bed that
Creaks when he lashes out in
His sleep, he's always
Sleeping and
Dreaming but
Forgetting when
Woken by the sound of
His bed creaking, I tell
Him to stop that lashing relaxing is
Better but he doesn't bother to
Listen to a word I say.