Drip
Dropping
Tick
Tocking
Time bleeds
From the sky
A beautiful grey
A half-closed eye

Rain filled fountains
Spill over our shoes
The Moon is a plum
A tender soft bruise

There are little killing words
Hanging on a string
Stiff and starched
They cut and they cling

To the skins of liars
And the skins of thieves
Pretty petty burglars
With pocketed sleeves