I've sat in the room with a clock,
endured every tick, every tock.
The pendulum swings on and on,
from morning to night,
from dusk unto dawn.
I've waited with time on my side
and watched others fall in their pride.
The face of the clock does not blink,
but yet I have known
that death may still wink.
I've run without seconds to spare,
a moment away from despair.
The hands of the clock are too fast;
you can sprint for the light,
but they catch you at last.
I've fled from the end I foresee,
but now I must face what must be.
No key will wind me anymore;
we all pass in alone
through the dark, clock-room's door.
Tale Told 