The watchmaker works all day, and long into the night He pieces things together despite his failing sight Though all the cogs connect with such poetic grace Time has left its curse upon this place Each hour becomes another empty space to fill Wasted with the care and virtues of his skill The watchmaker buries something deep within his thoughts A shadow on the staircase of someone from before This thing is broken now and cannot be repaired Fifty years of compromise and aging bodies shared Eliza dear, you know there's something I should say I never really loved you but I'll miss you anyway