Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock

When Midnight Strikes

Every hour, something different.

Every difference takes up time.

Every time I think of something,

something different takes up time.

Every morning eating breakfast,

breakfast leads to lunch,

lunch carries over to dinner;

dinner, like the rest, isn’t special.

In between there isn’t much,

much the same as before,

before the clock struck its numbers,

numbers soon enough, I’ll never see.

Life for all its problems,

problems I won’t have much longer,

longer still will be the final moments,

moments when midnight strikes.

Up on the hill with others,

others who have waited like me;

me and my simple way of living,

living death in a prison cemetery.

When the final hour does come,

come, think what you must think,

think whatever you choose,

choose wishes or dreams; when midnight strikes.