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.