Doomsday-Clockwork

The tick of the clock measures a life, The days that pass can dull a knife. The grains of sand can pass the time, But what does that mean when you are blind? By the spring we call it birth, And in the summer it fills the earth. But soon the fall brings forth the death, So that the winter can give us rest. Yet how do we spend the time we have, Can you really say that you are glad? But even now our life does pass, And so the clock will measure our last.