I strike without warning, often at night,
A battle of wills, a silent fight.
I vanish by day, leaving no trace,
Yet haunt you again, a familiar face.
You toss, you turn, in an endless plight,
But escape me? Only with the morning light.
What am I?
I strike without warning, often at night,
A battle of wills, a silent fight.
I vanish by day, leaving no trace,
Yet haunt you again, a familiar face.
You toss, you turn, in an endless plight,
But escape me? Only with the morning light.
What am I?
