Your life is a clock,
I was simply an hour.
When you’d tick I would tock,
But my talk would leave you sour.

My time passed by,
Your time is running short,
But those memories won’t die,
So to them I resort.

I hope your next hour treats you better than I did.
I hope it doesn’t cower like your eye to your eyelid.
I hope it kisses you like your ears to a vinyl.
And I hope your next hour doesn’t turn to be your final.