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 looked at weather models alone
Upon narrow monitors of plastic and chrome
'Neath the halo of a desktop lamp
I turned my eyes to the virtual maps
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of snow hole so bright
It split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand snow weenies, maybe more
People screaming endlessly
People lurking w/ ensemble maps of doom
People writing prayers about memories of something once called snow
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Hope for snow like a cancer grows"
Hear PSU's words that he might teach you
See Weather Will's maps of doom that he might reach you
But my words, like silent 34 degree raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the snowiest models that might have been made
But those models flashed out their warning
In the words that they were forming
And the model output said, "The place for snow is ever 200 miles south or north
And not in DMV halls"
And whispered in the sound of silence