I could’ve sworn I saw the clock tick backwards,
I could’ve sworn I glanced at stained red over the moon,
the stench of perfume and blood mixed with sadness,
I hear the screams and sorrows of those who mourned past the bloom,

I spit on my feet, where have they taken me?
I spit on my soul and my staged cocoon,
where have my audience who always seem to agree,
all my rose work and theater has gone too soon,

A work of a lifetime, a work of an hour,
if it’s not for God, we are wasting precious time,
You die in deep muds, a tongue strongly sour,
and the wasted hours simply all titled “undefined”;

I can hear the white coffins screaming,
for a second chance and a new will divine,
but no one rises from the dead believing,
for we were created for only one chance at a time.