That two am silent summer morning.
The eleven pm rigid fall night.
A three pm dire afternoon.
Time flies with distinct feelings,
That morning, I saw your soul.
The night a crime of passion was committed.
A afternoon, where words will never forgotton.
time.
eleven pm beraved,
by the lies of your silent summer soul,
By the mistake composed of passion,
And by the words that were lies,
That killed our time.