Damn clock stopped ticking at
close seven thirty
Now I’m lost from your prosperous
appearance
Drawling sighs so aspirately said
Put in trance, half-baked with
mortality
Expecting your return with
profound recess
Awe unvented in reaching
crescendo
Can’t count minutes very well, to
bad
Hell doesn’t care if I would
anyway
Bloom in the middle of windy
September
Save for these lies so untold
Replenish the strength of a
lovelorn heart
Seared dreams of my fellow
myrmidon
Take refuge in a balky casket
Pinned in deep fright pain
Lucky damsel left nothing but
grief
And only a few days of sad
memories