Clock from Puritan by The Wretched Excess

You’re late again for the 3rd time
They’ll probably have to fire you
Rinse your mouth out with wine
The boss is probably drunk too

I know you got debts
No honest woman could pay

But for today
The clock ticks away

The past’s a barbed chain
Stuck on what could’ve been
The future’s but a storm drain
That all petty struggles pour in

Friends turn their backs
And trains never wait

But for today
The clock ticks away

To whom should I be sold?
What demon must I praise?
And to melt into what mold?
What hearts must I raze?

And what lie should I tell?
Blood drawn at what well?
By day my mind creeps in the slum
Nighttime, my dreams pour into the seams of hell

Crawl on your knees over broken glass
And stick out your hands to deal
They’ll laugh at your bloody rags
Look at how sweet she squeals

Milk and honey, poverty
It’s a cruel twist of fate

But for today
The clock ticks away

Bodies wither and die
And love is always late

But for today
The clock ticks away

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