Fingernails grow fast and clear
Eye-catching pieces for a chandelier
Put some rings or a golden pierce
The ceiling is sure to be a centerpiece
See the chains of the rib bone clock
Hear it crack with every hit of the rock
That leaves a space for the next flock
As thunders ring the final death lock
Goodbye, sweet dreams
Goodbye, my chandelier
Greetings to the new rose
Of this dark, empty prose
Or poetry to the ears
But painful grip of
Reality’s final drill
Yakapin 