When fifty-five to midnight strikes
the second hand tock-ticks
and everything goes backwards
even the bloody film
but they don't care
just standing there
they've been there a long time too
six feet under in the wood
they'd push up daisies if they could.
But after-morning never seems to change
it always wants to stay the same.
And my guru say's
'hey, it's just like it was
a thousand years ago.'
An' Yestermorrow is just one eternal day.