Young man,
young man.
Don't walk through the sunbeams.
If they catch you,
it'll be your head.
But,
what use is a head,
if there is no body.

Whisper through the cracks in the painted tiles,
tell the preacher your sins.
He is the only one that can help you
through this trying time.
What if the times aren't trying?
The clock is broken.
Stuck
at a quarter til twelve.

I am feeling faded,
like looking through the eye of a needle.
Watching the brave men
charge into the abyss.
This is their greatest pleasure.
This is my worst nightmare.

We are greater
than the clock
the sun
the abyss.

I heard once that when you stare into the abyss,
it stares back.

I hope that my abyss is blind.
I hope that the tiles are not cracked.
I hope that the clouds block the sun.
I hope.

Old man,
old man.
What do you know?