The old wooden clock sits on the mantelpiece, the hour striking soon
The hours chime in, as the darkness and the dim, draw closer to midnight and noon
Twelve hours apart and yet so very close, the same shape and depth, as though souls were together
The one being midnight wanders alone, for its growing despair is hardly pleasure
Noon chimes in, joyous and boasting, though not even paying attention
Rhythmically humming, the time is soon coming, sending chills down the spine at the mention