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Clockwork
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Old It's been my case in point for a while
To see Twelve o'clock strike
And split our day into tear-fests and smiles.
Symmetric... divided into metric fractions.
And so we will program our actions.
Say it when needed.
Let our minds dwell in a fashionable proverb -
Seeded inside are the lessons that will guide us.
Kiss me at just the right time
Though I may be in some kind of bind,
Sustain me with watch-measured signs
And show me how we flow like clockwork.
Every minute on the fated hour
Send me robotic embraces.
Take me to comfortable places.
But above it all,
Make sour demise of our faces
At Six o'clock -
Carry out our scheduled dispute.
Live by the grandfather hand
And fight for an hour and half.
7:30 sends us into a sturdy sex -
The all nighter we knew we'd get.
But yet... why am I unfulfilled?
It's layed out in front of me still.
Two in the A.M.
Leaves me so desperate for what I was saying at Ten.
Wondering why I have spent
Every penny for my thoughts
On some expensive perpetual clock.
From Two to Five I lay solemnly awake
And pray that the clock hand will break for our sake.
Send us into a world of unknowns -
The uncanny zones where we feel so incredibly alone together.
No trusting guide to follow
But finally prone to borrow some real kind of breath
And exhale every fear from our chest through a newly freed lung.
Can you hear all the tears that we sung?
For once they are notes on a musical scale.
For once we are heard through the wind.
We can sing. We can sing
With no rhythmic confines.
No soul-stealing clock that will bring
A paralysis to all the callouses dressing my spine.
For once I can feel the totality of our surrender -
The horridly wonderful taste of reality.
Or... is it within this frame of time
That I express what is secondly mine
Through some scheduled individuality?
