The apparitions of yesteryear are coming round full circle, doing orbits of your history, winding back your symmetry.
Your mistakes are carved in their hearts, and your fate is etched from their scars, your treachery is survived by those who bare your marks.
The watchmen is counting backwards, the now is becoming the past,
as you slowly sink deeper into the sands of the hour glass.
Because time is coming back for you, time is bringing your death,
as the hands of the clock grip your neck, you take your last breath.
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