The Clock Struck One

At twelve forty-five, the clock struck one, and when it had seen what it had done, after sixty more minutes flew, that timekeeper struck two. It never learned, next to the shelf: "Always keep your hands to yourself", so, it continued its violent spree. An hour later, it struck three. Reinforcements came through the door - but, too late, that timepiece struck four. We could only hope to stay alive, when Big Bad Ben struck five. We knew we were in a terrible fix when that chronometer struck six. Three went to hell, four to heaven, when that outsized watch struck seven. The FBI came to investigate when that mad sundial struck eight. The national guard stood in a line, and the ticking demon struck nine. I prayed it would never happen again. Just then, the awful beast struck ten. When I cast my eyes up to heaven, that hunk of gears struck eleven. Into the hour's nature, my mind did delve, as the clock, time's agent, struck twelve. A riddle: how much blood did it spill? Seventy-eight, it would kill. And now, by order of fate's decree, time is racing after me. So, when I hear the clock strike one. I know it's time to run.