Waiting alone in the flickering of the street light

Peering breathlessly up at the cowering clock tower

Hoping that in the next few minutes the arms will reach midnight

Inevitably, the sun has to arrive and help him stand up

Each lively click of the hand, each grind of the gears

Accentuates the aromas of reprieve burning close by

The cause behind the anticipation has degenerated across the years

Just floating in false dreams that are anchored to the location

Nausea is thrusted deep into the stomach by the fradulent luminosity of a star

The dimmer, accessible sparks are the only ones that can be trusted

They might not be as beautiful, but they make it apparent how corrupt they are

They might not be as kind, but they're kind enough to shoot down a wish within seconds

They won't leave the bitter, lingering taste of regret when they're gone

They won't inspire an insatiable appetite for comfort

That will never be felt except during the ascent of the slow approaching dawn

Until then, the incandescence of 1000 watts will suffice