Every day spent apart from her is a day that's been stolen out of my life. Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours slip into days that should have been ours. Ending each day the same way that I start quietly watching the clock of my heart. Why must the sun pa** so slow 'cross the sky? Why does the moon have control of the tide? With laughter he mocks me, the tyrant called time as I paint a portrait of sorrow in rhyme. A cadence of moments, the shadows they mark, but the hands do not move on the clock of my heart. Alone and in darkness I lay down to sleep, painful caresses, the memories I keep cursing and mourning the moments I've lost. An age pa**es by 'twit a tick and a tock, but until the gray storm on my soul doth depart and I able to hold you in my arms, I'll keep on winding the clock of my heart.