A clock turns to midnight,
The will o’ the wisps come alight,
Leading to what you want so much,
Ten fingers and ten toes to touch.
The candles are blown out again,
Crowds rhyme and chant at big ben,
Earth has gone around the Sun,
Still waiting for that little someone.
Toasts are made in your name,
They tell you that your not the one to blame,
It will all be different this time next year,
What else can you do but adhere?
