As night falls it brings a foreboding -
A sinister omen of fear;
What will I do when the clock strikes twelve,
When it's midnight and he's not here?

Each tick of the clock seems to mock me,
How do I flee its taunting jeer?
A starless mantle of black and gray
Steadily falls . . . and he's not here

And I plead,  but will God hear my prayer,
Or into my heart ****** a spear?
The hour hand of the clock slowly crawls
Toward midnight . . . and he's not here

Has the fount of mercy stopped flowing?
My cup remains devoid of cheer;
I brace myself for doom's messenger . . .
Midnight arrives . . . and he's not here

Each night the clock eerily echoes
The ****** of a drama so drear,
Repeating over and over again
Not here . . . not here . . . not here . . .