The clock ticks slow

The clock ticks slow—
Hands dragging wide.
A faint bell rings
Where shadows hide.
Footsteps echo,
Heavy on stone—
A child once ran here;
Now they're grown.

The clock ticks on—
It won't rewind.
Guilt and longing,
Tied and twined.
The bell— It calls—oh,
What's it for?
To bring me back
Or close the door?

Rain on the glass—
A smudged-out view.
Fingers trace lines
where dreams once flew.
A distant laugh—
The wind takes hold;
It whispers secrets,
But they feel cold.

And I—I turn—
But it's too late.
Time holds steady—
Won't abate.

The clock ticks on—
It won't rewind.
Guilt and longing,
Tied and twined.
The bell—It calls—oh,
What's it for?
To bring me back
Or close the door?

Footsteps chasing echoes—
They lead nowhere.
Creaking doors of memories,
Cracked with despair.
The cello moans,
Deep as regret—
The wind hums softly;
It won't forget.


https://rutube.ru/video/eba7f4b176c91370cf0aaa8d3eddfb31/