There is a sound like breaking glassnWhen water falls on dying grassnThere is a sound sung by the seanAnd plastic bags caught in treesnnThere is a sound all buildings crynRight before the morning lightnThe quiet sound that's left behindnWhen airplanes fall from the skynnIt sleeps inside flourescent lightsnIn waiting rooms painted whitenAnd late at night when you're asleepnIt follows you in your dreams