Time is slowly slipping
from our translucent hourglass.
And every single grain of sand
is a second from our past.
We wait in endless, joyful hope
that our time was spent on love
A fragile mass, the Nephillim
The fallen, dammed, the dove.
Our intentions may be jolly
The morales may be fair
Hath greed is heavy, as is lust
But love is truly rare.

A shredder of emotions, quick!
A crimson trickle of a fool.
My lifeforce hit, but I to care?
For being such a sorrowed tool.

Now emitting silence, left alone
The crimson turns to blue
The bottom of the looking glass
A vision born, anew.
So when you fall asleep tonight
Conjure an answer true:

How many grains of sand did I
now waste away with you?