Текст песни
Beneath the dial a copper stair, descending spring by spring,
The pendulum is breathing slow, a bell that will not ring,
A forest made of spinning cogs, where amber echoes cling,
And every second tastes of brass, a hymn the gears will sing.
The mainspring curls a lullaby, unwinding silver thread,
The balance wheel tips left and right, deciding live or dead,
I stepped between the escapement teeth, where even light has fled,
And found a room of ticking walls, where time has gone to bed.
The hour hand is tall as trees, a rotating gallery,
The minute hand cuts arcs of frost, a frozen filigree,
The escapement clicks a riddling pulse, unlocking what will be,
And deep inside the winding drum, there hides a copper key.
A jewel bearing spins on dew, refracting candle flame,
The calendar wheel counts the lost, engraving every name,
The chime train waits for midnight's mouth, to swallow grief and blame,
And nothing in this clockwork world has ever played the same.
The striking pin releases slow, a hammer finding bone,
The bellows breathe cathedral air, through passages of stone,
A gear within a gear within, a pattern I have known,
And I have walked these copper halls, a thousand years alone.
The seconds drip like molten wax, dissolving at the seam,
The gears begin to slow and stretch, as if inside a dream,
The clockwork yawns, the mainspring sighs, releasing golden steam,
And nothing was the way it was, and nothing's what they seem.
