The bell struck thirteen
and all the mourners cried,
The cats shrunk to the corner
and the dogs howled through the night.
“The poets have run out,”
the young town crier screams,
“they’ve run out of their rhyme,
and they’re bursting at the seams!”
And in the midst of the coffin dropping
and the young children scattering,
The crying girl looks in her mirror,
And drops it to the floor, smashing, clattering.

The bell struck fourteen
and all the town mourned,
The town’s workers ran out
and the meeting was adjourned.
“The Sun, it is falling,”
yells the pretty young girl,
“Get out of your houses now!”
And the mystery begins to unfurl.
In amongst the premature fallen,
A bare boy’s skin blisters,
And all around him she’s not there,
The only crying ones are his sisters.

The bell struck fifteen,
And the town was left deserted,
Save a young girl lying, and her brother
whose gaze was averted.
“All that live must die,”
A sound from a speaker on a van,
“Passing through nature to eternity.”
Live while you must and die whilst you can.
The stars have fallen from the sky,
And they’re crashing to the ground,
Lust the only left emotion,
Lying, waiting to be found.