It echoes in my head a hundred times. A thousand more.
A clock, it's simple ticks and bizzare tocks echoes in my head,
Making the sweet people dance,
The sweet people of my sub-conscious,
I feel your hand grace mine, "Shall we dance?"
They twirl and swirl, mimicking my hopeless memories,
Dancing to a single tick,
A second tock,
My masquerade of shadowed dreams.
They prance around their blissful circle,
Oh so blissfully unaware,
Their black and white dance is dying,
Fading into the candle lit darkness.
I feel you also slipping away,
Your single touch, gone in a moment,
I can no longer hear you or see you,
Pray tell, "Where are you?"
And in a second, a gentle tick of the clock,
I feel my heart, that frail crystalline shell,
Break. Break into a thousand peices.
Pray tell, "Where can I find you?"
The masquerade has become but a shrouded memory,
A distant memory of you.
A memory; a figment of beautiful nothingness,
Pray tell, "If I follow in your footsteps, will they lead me to you?"
It echoes in my head, a hundred times. A thousand more.
The clock ticks; its dying gasp,
Its hand stuck upon the midnight hour,
The hour I lost my prince and my fairytale.
Can you tell me, "Where is my glass slipper? Where is my Happy Ending?"