It's nearing that time, where I feel like it's my last breath.
When the short hour hand of the clock finally hits ten.
Away you go to a quiet land, between reality and death.
And when the morning arrives, will you come back again?

You see, time spent talking to you makes me feel alive.
And time not spent with you, isn't really time at all.
It's like wandering the shelves of an old library archive.
Looking through books trying to read the dusty scrawl.

But as you return, the words suddenly become clear.
As if the dust falls away under the soft brilliant light.
Only to become dusty once more without you near.
I guess this is it though, it's bedtime so goodnight.