Clock of the talk

Previously

…The clock’s rhythm faltered, then resumed, a little weaker, a little more strained. But the message was clear. The rhymes, the slime, the crime, the grime – it was all part of the same decaying tapestry. And somewhere, in the heart of this encroaching darkness, Blue Lew’s lost tune was being swallowed, piece by agonizing piece. The dock, the clock, the encroaching night – it was all a stage, and the performance of madness had only just begun.