Passing Of Time

The clock doesn't tick, and it doesn't tock.
Dreams become nightmares on this final day.
Chemicals and molecules turn to spray.
Souls uncertain future smote by the shock.
No passing of time left, no more dismay.

When the sun becomes a frosty sno-cone.
And all mountains sink as giant souffles.
The desert is now mudpuddles to play.
Black snow sprinkles down opening tombstones.
Oceans say goodbye with one final wave.