'Tick tock', you say,
The arena's a clock!
You squeak it over, again, and again,
Do you think it'll change the mess we're in?
What are those words to you?
A warning?
An omen?
A comfort?
A spell?
So that if you chant them enough…
We'll all wake from this hell?
But your singing tells me we're still alive,
That we can make it form this place and survive.
Your ticking and tocking,
Is it a timer?
Are you the bird,
And we, the miners?
But there's no sense in thinking,
Our ears meet blank air,
As we suddenly realize,
Your voice is not there.
Our bird has sopped talking.
Danger is near.
We have been stalked.
It's the moment we've feared.
Tick tock,
This hell is a clock,
Just as you said,
As the sea turns red.
I don't own the hunger games