From my Ithaca sojourn (early 20s) until that fateful Nebraska day I gave up music, this was the introspective and melancholy album and this was the song.

keep a pencil and a book
I say this is how a life can look
Russian roulette, French-kissed cigarette
And the silence like an anvil
The things that you learn,
but now all that burns
Is a candle
And the fog melts over the night,
and it softens the edges
I begin to write in the dead of the night

A bead of sweat runs down my arm
And I drink it from my skin
It is the most real thing that I feel
It is communion
Bless the meek
Heal the sick
Protect the weak
In the dead of the night