Beware the ticking clock and hours it brings,
It takes away the day, it haunts our dreams.
Of a hickory smell, of a dickory chime,
the clock strikes twelve, the dream sublime.
Onward marches its hands around its face,
One two they go a steady pace.
Its time, sleep time, the hours ‘ave gone,
do not turn to past times ahead.
Daily Tulpa 