The clock strikes three in silent air, These words are born from hollow light. A weight of thoughts too much to bear, Within the shadows of the night. The candy sits upon the tongue, A little sweet, a little sour. The songs of love that once were sung, Have faded in this lonely hour. But honey turned to bitter sting, The softest words began to punch. The pain is now the only thing, That breaks with every heavy crunch. The tolerance has run its course, The sugar lost its golde