• My shattered clock with twisted hands
    screams melodies, and empty plans.
    Of time unsung, and evil words,
    are we this bad, and this unsure?

    The crawling ticks and inching tocks,
    a horrible disaster; my eyes are locked.
    I cannot look away,
    and all my colors fade to grey.

    This ill fate has brought us here.
    The memory of forgotten years.
    We wate our time in indecision,
    never apreciate what we are given.

    A simple voice, the one I need,
    is the evil thing of which I heed.
    To see those eyes, those knowing eyes,
    and that voice, my angel up high.

    But those things won't come, they won't arrive,
    They will never bring me alive.
    All they give, all they gave,
    is an empty wish, and a shallow grave.