Oh? Did something I said strike a chord?
Faces age in but an instant
Creasing at every curve
Remembering an unrepeatable nostalgia

Ring Ring!
It’s the Flatline Hotline
The sand stretches into coins as it drains,
And clatters in my clutch

The guests enjoyed their time,
They wept rivers,
Their regrets only fault to time
They dread the fault of progression

By creating such a ruse for those close,
By bringing him close to them for but one moment more
By creating a memory that may outlive his own,
I create myself a nefarious title

Two, three, four
Four people nearing my precious clutch
One, two, three,
Three months till the next dial
Three, six, four, eight
Ring up the Flatline Hotline
Next time you want to relive the loss