Death of the Cat

The clock is broken, it stopped ticking ten years ago, stopped counting how much time had passed. It is an old grandfather clock, wood of oak, and sculpted to perfection.

In a world of rose petal dawns

And freshly mowed lawns

And the warmth of a million suns

There lives a child

Meek and mild

I would let the world burn

If it meant I could see you one last time

I could let the skies collapse 

if I could press pause on time