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The Clock Keeps Ticking

There was a time when I wrote a poem about time. I used rhyme to talk about time; about a time to reflect and regret a crime. If you’d like to read it, it’s now the right time…  

          Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…
It’s two a.m. and the clock keeps ticking
Bringing me closer to my final hour
At seven a.m. I’ll lose my life, from two thousand volts of electric power
          The clock keeps ticking
          And ticking, and ticking
          The clock keeps ticking

It’s three a.m. and the clock keeps ticking
I’m on death row for a stupid crime
I killed for a bag of weed worth barely a dime
         The clock keeps ticking
         And ticking, and ticking
         The clock keeps ticking

It’s four a.m. and the clock keeps ticking
I remember my youth and years gone past
Those were good days, I wish they could last
          The clock keeps ticking
          It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t slow down
          The clock keeps ticking

It’s five a.m. and the clock keeps ticking
Things got out of hand, I didn’t mean to kill that guy
Now when the sun comes up they’re gonna make me fry
          The clock keeps ticking
          Time goes faster as my final hour approaches
          The clock keeps ticking

It’s six a.m. and the clock keeps ticking
I barely hear the priest as he reads my last rites
Such a desolate place, these bars, to be my last sights
          The clock keeps ticking
          The hour hand is getting lower
          And the noise is getting louder
          And louder and louder and louder

It’s six-thirty five and the clock keeps ticking
My lawyer was a fool; damn that prosecution
I stood before the judge and I begged for absolution
I never stood a chance and the man said execution
Now I’m walking down the hall to my electrocution

It’s six fifty-nine and the clock keeps ticking
His hand is on the switch I’m gonna die in this chair
Strapped in, trapped in, trembling with fear

          Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

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