“The ominous forty-seven, keeps popping up everywhere, or maybe,  it’s a good sign?” Gun Roswell 

0:47

When the midnight struck

I was running out of luck

I needed to wait

Until, the time was something over forty-eight

But alas I did not well fair

As into the clock I stared

It kept on its timeless ticking

Slowly but surely flicking

And the endless count 

As I started to have my doubts

Finally, the number four appeared

One, two, three, I feared

That the number of eight would never come

And just as I was about to cheer along

Time stopped:

Just, at zero zero forty-seven

Surely, this wasn’t, heaven?