The second hand goes crawling by, time and time again
It seems as if these lonely nights will never have an end.
The cars out on the highway, have a mournful passing sound-
And sitting in a motel room....the spectres gather round.
The ghosts of all my past mistakes, come creeping from the gloom
And sorrow like a tidal wave, does seem to flood the room.
Regrets like some dread metronome, do set a steady beat-
The fires of Hell become so real, I almost feel the heat.
I hear the ghostly laughter, and shiver in my fear-
And wait in dread, for those long dead, before me to appear.
Afraid that what I really am, my be exposed to all,
And one that many thinks is big, might suddenly seem small.
Ah, dreadful clock, why does your pace..so steadily decrease?
And every tick, and every tock, does rob me of my peace.
A decade passes every night, Thanks be! Itís finally done-
My ghosts, and fears, and gremlins flee, the rising of the sun.