The Tickling Clock

Life flirt, I await the trumpet

Which in while shall

Blow

Darkness will abrupt

And light rested though

In the discomfort

Of the many

Death I cry, Death I moan

Wishing I befriend

In my heart have I bled for

The wicked

My sobbing as stream

Of burning flames

Be it the fate of every mortal

I weep of my own ruin