The Count

We were placed in paradise Soon to be undone Our father’s sin In each of us The clock strikes one Born of fire from Which we grew Pandora’s Box Now all we knew The clock strikes two Civilization grew Great literacy Temples built For love and fear The clock strikes three Quickly it ended Infighting bred war Our father’s sin Enacted again The clock strikes four Humans were dispersed No empire thrived Tribes then formed And hope appeared The clock strikes five Growth was prominent In Old River Styx Theater and Art And old prophets The clock strikes six A short pause in the count As empires grew Although death and destruction Little people knew Of horrors of war Our late father’s sin Was then betrayed By his very own kin New religions rose Old rulers toppled Preachings of peace The clock ticks again Disease and plague spread Preachings of heaven And followers died All throughout the world The clock strikes seven Knights were born New morals of late Of chivalry, honor Respect and love The clock strikes eight Out of darkness came light Then a great crime War against brothers On hollowed ground The clock strikes nine Art then rose from decay Then many great men who Sculpt and paint Invent and create The clock strikes ten New freedoms were sought Odds were hardly even Life, liberty and Equality The clock strikes eleven Great wars were fought A weapon of doom Was all that saved Innocents The clock strikes noon Now it appears We are half way done At the tip of millennia In the high noon sun Sadly we’re vengeful Born inert with sin We seek salvation No matter where we live Time continues on although Just one moment we pause Where will we be? When the clock strikes one