The clock will turn,

But time will stop.

The people will burn,

Even after we are on top.

On top of the world.

On top of it all.

With the stones unfurled,

We will fall.

It will never end,

This fight for importance.

The belief that money will mend

Our problems without hesitance.

We will go as far,

As to put our hearts on the line,

Our souls for a wishing star,

Just to claim it mine.

We will continue even once everything is sold,

To quench our thirst for power.

It all started when we were wee bit old.

But, the clock still ticks even louder.

When will we realize this is all for the naught?

For there is no where to go once we reach the sky.

In this war already fought.

But, despite it all, we will try.

To go higher and higher,

We will stand in the bodies of our own.

To just become mightier

But, our fate is already set in stone.

A sound will be heard,

A metronome in the wild.

In the midst of the apocalypse yearned,

The clock still ticks, not affected in the mild.

The hand still turns,

But not for much longer.

We will never learn.

We are goners.

Truth is, the clock is a bomb, ticking away.

And all we can do is corrupt and cower.

Because soon time will have run out, one day.

But, the clock still ticks for another hour.