"Fighting The Clock"
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The second hand is circling; waving at me, and they’ve set ‘snares,’ out to catch me
The round frame of this drum swallows my soul, and spits it right back out at me -
Somehow I feel like; I have nothing left to live, hours left to adorn and break the dawn
My waking hours are consumed by what I can only assume to be the annals of scorn -
I’m depressed man, aint no second way about it, and my measure - I doubt it’s torn.
The way I look at the world is distorted, worn; I’ve got barely seconds, minutes more.
And meeting deadlines is my only port of call – sailing toward a cut-off, an acidic shore
Time is only on your side when you’re on the other side; I’ll collide with these here doors
The gates of heaven are shut; minutes before I ascend, I am cast down forever more…
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“The Early bird catches the worm” - But that worm that got up early – still gets eaten.
The Worm that gets up late is determined not to be food for the skies, nor to be beaten.
The clock is running me down and, I can think of no way to stomach it’s dim banality
I’m committed to die a timely death tonight, in a timely palace of bittersweet finality
Alarm bells will ring out, time will devour me, I am fleeing vexed from the now present.
Because what I can achieve in half an hour see - that right there is verbal effervescence
I have no cover to run behind peasant – I go by just evanescent glimpses of paradise
It would be pleasant to see that torture chamber burned, even hell’s entry has a price.
I am fighting the clock that is saying it has earned…..
…..the right to dictate life, from myriad chances of dice
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