Listen to the birds, singing in the trees while the forest gleams with retribution. Watching all the saints, bringing in the sheaves while beating down the unclean masses. And looking out the corner of your eye, you might see a man go by.
His sunburnt face and cool dark hair and bright green eyes do ever stare. There adulterer to Mother Nature. His name's not time, she loves another. She follows him to kiss his fate. She's the sun so bright, it burns his face,
He's ever young, as cursed as Gray; mortality shall never stain his crimson skin and Christmas eyes beyond the sight of Father Time. A daft old man, who lives in clocks and only speaks in ticks and tocks.
That Girl in Green he loves so true it'd break his heart if he only knew. Her heart belongs to someone young who's requiem shall ne'er be sung.
For those three gods, Earth, Time and Fate are trapped inside this world of hate. For they know more ticks, death, and tide that what they feel, themselves, inside.