Sands Of Time

In a room, one with lots of clocks

like a torture cell, the ticking never stops

bombarded with sounds, avalanche of the sands of time

way past my prime, hours pass so quickly when you hear the bells chime

Hands creep over the face, slowly to start, soon they race

before you know it they are spinning on fast forward, head can't keep the pace

ill fitting skin that I'm wearing, is ageing, the parts have worn thin

the sandpaper scrape of time, reveals the person within

The chimes ring out for midnight, the bells call out for one

at two the voices start, at three they are on song

at four the room is spinning, my head is in a daze

at five I want to scream, at six my memory replays

at seven the sun is shining, at eight I am asleep

at nine the dreams are taunting, at ten I wake and weep

In a room, one with lots of clocks

this is my holding cell, where the voices never drop

the sands of time keep sweeping on, coating everything

here in my ageing skin, all I can do is sing

Thanks For Reading.

Peace & Love.

Kyle.