Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The clock strike rings.
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
and death rides swift,
on silver wings.

All eyes upon the midnight hour,
when elation shall forsake all souls.
Shrouded in an endless shadow,
and all the Devil’s servant.
 
Shimmered falling specks of sand,
rising to the hallowed end.
Caged in furies chains,
never to break free.
 
A silent mournful tick,
from the rugged father clock.
All join hands and take their bow,
together as the final curtain.

Accursed reprieve for eleven’s hated hour,
halting death on her swift wings.
All struggle to but make amends,
as the glass runs smooth and cold.
 
Surface cracks and hell breaks forth,
to devoid the world of purity.
Winged messengers raise arms,
and stall the coming of our judgement.
 
Tick, tock, tick, tock
the final strike of that old clock.
Revered sound of shattered glass,
and the ending of this world.