The Masks We Wear

Thoughts on a clock - doctor who extended version

Brand new face, hands never used, the ticking heart's begun.

The wonders of the world await, it's time to live, to run.

An hour comes, your very first, so early in the day.

What are you now, who will you be? What will you do and say?

When it seems you've just begun, the hour's already through

There's plenty more, get moving, start! The clock is striking two.

Be busy now, compile a list of places you will go.

Make all your plans with steady hands, time waits for none, you know.

The hour has passed, it went so fast, you didn't see it flee

You're ready now, list item one, the clock is striking three.

So many plans, it's early yet, with many hours ahead

No need to rush, those things can wait, so smell the flowers instead...

It kissed your cheek, it flew, it’s gone, it's not three anymore.

No looking back, the hand swings on, the clock is striking four.

Rub your eyes, get on your feet, you've slept an hour away.

That time has slipped, it won't come back, wish hard as you may.

You've made mistakes, but that's okay, you're learning, you're alive.

So brush it off, and start again, the clock is striking five.

It's your fifth hour, you are renewed, your slate is blank and clear,

You're older now, you're braver too, and now you have friends here.

Hold them tight, don't let them go, time ticks and tocks and ticks,

Before you know, the hour is up, the clock is striking six.

How can it be, you're halfway done! There's so much yet to do!

Time flies and crawls, and with each hour, you feel like someone new.

You stack these lives from front to back, remember each in turn.

You're running now, you're moving on, you love, you lose, you learn.

Your seventh life, your seventh self, but then the hour is past.

How can it be, each hour that comes, seems faster than the last?

You cling hard to the things you knew, but time, it doesn't wait.

So say goodbye, smile, take your bow, the clock is striking eight.

Tide in, tide out, sun up, sun down, conflict, famine, war.

You're getting lost, and hour to hour, you're not sure who you are.

It's all right though, through war and waste, you'll always come out fine,

Be wise, be strong, be kind, be brave, the clock is striking nine.

The dust has cleared, what's done is done, let go, you're moving on

A brand new face, a brand new start, but remember those who've gone

Much still to do, much still to see, you'll learn to run again

Breathe in deep, and take the leap, the clock is striking ten.

So many stones unturned, and soon, the end is close at hand.

You start to see the awful truth--you can't do all you planned.

So flee and fly, and touch and do, and climb the highest tower.

live and feel and reach and stretch, you've come to the eleventh hour.

You're aging now, you're slowing down, you're dimming, losing strength.

But that's okay, your heart has grown, and there's more to life than length.

The time has come for one last bow, like all your other selves

Eleven's hour is over now, the clock is striking twelve's.

The worlds we see, the hands we hold, the common threads we pull

The trick is to take the time that's yours, and live a life that's full.