At fifteen minutes after the hour or it could have been before when the door creaked slowly open in the five and ten cent store and the mutt that slept by the rocking chair with his bandy legs and the fleas in his hair didn't stir,
I felt you fastened to the midnight chime like the last time and the time again became that fifteen after or the fifteen before.

The same can be said but it's never the same
there's a miniscule change in the rules of the game
we play anyway.

At the eighth stroke of ten when it's two strokes to go and the candles once bright start to burn down and slow
I know the door will creak and
midnight will speak to me.