long time past 

still my clock shows the same cast

FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT

 

neither a talk

nor a thought of a walk

or the sound of a falling rock

it's  FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT

maybe my clock is a little behind time

but why no sign from the clime

and still the air nurses the stench of horror

if only day would come

and the sun gives sparkle like a dime,

joy would bruise my heart

but no it still is

FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT

dawn doesnt come and its light

relents to lend 

sparkle to my eyes

which soon gaze at my son's desolate land.

at FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT

 

my face is as pale as death

as drabb as a dead man's hand.

then, my eyes once again drift

to my cursed clock

now it's 1..2..3..

...FOUR PAST MIDNIGHT