The Music of Conscience

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...

Eyes' rolling, hair's flipping, try ignoring.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...

Stilettos' flicking in fancy clicks, snobbish.

Rhythm sways with the chick's feet

Flip-flop, flip-flip-flop-flop...

And the ruffled edges swaying

Hey-hey-sway-and-sway-hey!

The waltz of escapade and remorse

From the death of future past

Dance the beat of dug-dug-dug...

With your plan of quiet evasion.

Sigh! Then continue inhaling, exhaling.

Belch the crime committed so fast,

Run from the just and humane like,

Remember, she died by your knife.

The wind rewinds to chill you out

And the night shivers you off your skin

As the haunted conscience plays it loud

The minute you struck her chest so hard.

And you remember again, it is your knife.

It's your own knife that cut her heart.

Tear it precisely into one millimeter size

And pulverize each piece with your tender touch.

In detailed and loaded with treacherous words,

The tearing of her heart is written in piece

So neatly, flowery, and ingeniously created

You write it with your plume and with her blood.

Then, the harmony of the music floating in the air

Urged profoundly within your audio senses

And all the dug-dug-dug of nervousness

Made your feet waltz into the gate of hell.

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