The time course of

The clock is ticking, the hourglass sand 
trickling down early. 
Mother Nature makes its own magic. 
The feel of the empty sometimes the power 
the human heart. 
Sometimes it is a moment of such 
when the night starry sky 
only part of the console. 
There is a glass of wine fired 
of life, and in my ears 
ringing sound to the end of the called popular music. 

Only just noticed how 
a lot can sometimes say, without the word. 
It is the sound of the music, 
which rang in my head as before. 
It was the night in a strange, 
watch dancing with the Grim woman. 

Quiet sleep time 
lulled her child, said, you are not allowed to grieve. 
There is still time left in the time, 
your as you wrapped up, 
white scrim. 
Buried in the bosom of the country. 
In the remaining nights will be the hope of the red satin. 
That night in a dream tie me for webs 
the red belt I feel a wild frenzy, 
and the refreshing feeling satin.