Satan's Crow
Member
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2024
- Messages
- 421
Clock - A poem for Lord Malphas
A clock set for the day after its own end will slowly count the minutes of pain.
Those who live without knowing which deity, which year; will throw away everything left behind.
With a pain like holding their hand to fire; they will throw it away even if they don't know, even if they don't see it.
There is something on the edge of time that is passing by,
Your eyes shine like the last star at the end of the night,
Like the last city lamp in an abandoned city.
There's so much I can't tell
Even though poems say more than words,
I can't tell.
Were the days shorter, or the lives that fate had given as a joke?
Was it rain,
Or was it the falling snow that made ı write?
Was it the night that made summer winter?
We don't need seasons, we need you.
Let the days and seasons pass...
Hug your inner child, let it tell you about you.
And let one morning, the clock chimes to wake me up.
-Satan's Crow
A clock set for the day after its own end will slowly count the minutes of pain.
Those who live without knowing which deity, which year; will throw away everything left behind.
With a pain like holding their hand to fire; they will throw it away even if they don't know, even if they don't see it.
There is something on the edge of time that is passing by,
Your eyes shine like the last star at the end of the night,
Like the last city lamp in an abandoned city.
There's so much I can't tell
Even though poems say more than words,
I can't tell.
Were the days shorter, or the lives that fate had given as a joke?
Was it rain,
Or was it the falling snow that made ı write?
Was it the night that made summer winter?
We don't need seasons, we need you.
Let the days and seasons pass...
Hug your inner child, let it tell you about you.
And let one morning, the clock chimes to wake me up.
-Satan's Crow
