Now the time has come to explain how time has run me insane with ever tick of the clock.

The heat and pressure of time running out melts and molds my dreams into nothing at all.

Now the hour hand laughs and points at 12 as to say,

‘Look, the day is half gone and you’re not even close to being done.’

All that’s left is you and me. Me and you, to on our own, break off all the hands of time.

To pour the sand down some lonely hole where it will never be turned over again to grain by grain taunt our intelligence ever again.

So then we can lay on my bed in my room,your hand in mine.

And I’ll finally be able to say with confidence, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”