Does the time make us fools or simply were we always so to begin with .
Sketches faded now remain a ghost that haunts only the artist and nobody else.
The clock strikes midnight, but time stands still in this illusion of borrowed hours
Will there be a moments peace within the turmoil which ever lingers upon this day
The hours are toxic to a idle mind.
Falling in a routine and a favorite vice the blade still glimmers even after all its use.
We always find misery easily where others just themselves

Voices speak to me of freedom
But freedom is not something I desire
I beg and plead with you
But hell
what do you care
I'm lost
But don't treat me like a fool
A fools freedom in your smile
Is not freedom at all

As I walk now past empty gardens that once knew life of summers embrace .

Winters chill is a empty ended promise .
Now simply scorched is the earth that does remain.

The clock upon the wall simply keeps time we only hold memories and nothing more

Life has been a listless game of joys and sorrows  
I've spent my joys too quickly and they nowadays spread themselves thin upon the stage which is my life
Sorrowful me that lingers on the edge of reason
May reason be the saving of my sanity and not its end