The Clock Maker
The Nest in the Black Tree
The Clock Maker’s creation
The Vessel of Flesh
The body of a soul
It must not be taken
The world will weather it down
Time is harsh
It’s the canvas of the skin
The vessel has been stolen
Taken by the Wretches
It lies in the Bad Lands
Where the Sprinter runs
The Clock Maker cries out for the Watch
He demands it’s rescue
Behind the sealed lips
He Looks deep where words can not travel
Past the love of her memory
The vessel rusts to ruins
Sprinter, seek the Vessel
Hate, the War Machine is building inside
Pray for the Heavens soon the crash
Pray for the Sprinter’s speed
