I will spend the rest of my day

Stuck in this hourless corridor,

No clock to tell the minutes by,

Every second a wasted one.

And now the script remains unplayed --

A joyful scene now turns to horror;

The audience won't laugh, won't cry,

Won't see again this morning's gun.

Millions of phantoms float by my eyes

Through this graveyard of past plans failed

My spirits lifting, then falling with each

Every time, getting farther from heaven

Then suddenly, I see the sky

Falling, crashing, beginning to hail,

Distracted ears that a voice can't reach

Are tortured until four eleven.