Pocketwatch

Things you read in books about love aren't true, 
If they were would I really be writing to you? 

I'm broken like an old watch, 
Forgotten in your pocket. 
From times you used to sit and draw a red space rocket, 
Dusty, bent, a few minutes behind, 
My heart keeps on ticking. 

Slower and slower the tick keeps on going, 
Times running out just slowing and slowing, 
Draining me from the inside out, 
Turning my body into a drout. 

I'm burning up inside but you can't see it, 
Instead I'm standing here trying to conceal it. 

If my heart tears once more, 
I will surely stumble and fall to the floor. 

My times almost up, 
And your to blame, 
If only I could sit and turn time back again.