That clock was an antique once,
Before I got my hands on it,
A beautiful carving of care,
It was my grandfathers favourite thing,
Oh how he'd go on and on...

He loved to explain it all.
Each gear click came with a lesson.
The swing of the pendulum, a new conversation.
Every single tick of that clock, there was a story behind it.

I'll never forget its chime.
Although I couldn't show you it now,
It hasn't sang since I got my hands on it
But every night, at exactly 10:00, it would chirp.
And I would be shipped off to bed...

I once took one of the gears out, thinking I could trick the clock,
Because then I got to spend more time with grandpa.
But that's ... not how it worked.
Instead I just broke the clock,
And we spent the whole next day fixing it.

Now it just... sits here.
Collecting dust...

I want to fix it,
I really do,
I know grandpa would want me to...
But I know that if I hear that chime, just one more time,
I'll never get to see grandpa again.
And I can't bring myself...

I can't bring myself to hear it sing.