It's half past Ten,
he's late in again,
but being late, isn't comitting a crime.

It's Eleven o'clock,
no key in the lock,
he's obviously lost track of the time.

Half past Eleven,
and praying to heaven,
that he's safe and on his way home.

Ringing around,
no sight and no sound,
on the streets, he was told not to roam.

Twelve o'clock strikes,
no sign of the likes,
of the boy who is worryingly late.

At Twelve and half past,
this time is his last,
he'll set foot outside of the gate.

The phone makes you jump,
and your heart starts to pump,
oh please, let it be he.

The knock on the door,
makes your stomach hit the floor,
all he says is 'Oops, I forgot my key'.