If the tidal swell of human emotion
Could stop this world from turning,
It would've done so on the day
The sands of his hourglass
Drifted wholly into the deep.
The clocks would've held back their tick for him,
The moon stock still in waxing crescent ever more,
The sun, somewhere setting, somewhere rising, eternal,
The frozen waters fixed without Winter's stark hand.
All that to keep a moment at bay,
To quench the powder-burn bursting,
To comfortably home the casings
Safely within their chambers,
And still the pulsing instinct of assassins
One heartbeat ahead of the kill.