“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?
Rantings Of A Third Kind 