The clock’s delicate melody
Seems to be at odds with the
Heavy hammering of my heart
How can something so mechanical
Aim to control our lives so entirely?
But I suppose it is us who give it power.
It is our pure mortal aim for control
For restrictions, for organization,
That gives it purpose.
If I had the choice
If my life wasn’t in it’s death grip already
I would toss that ticking damnation
Out of the window. Good riddance.
And plunge myself into the world
When life’s only timer was the
Rising and setting of the Great Sun.
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