Oh behold the clock on the wall, without it, would yee have time at all?
Oh behold the clock on the wall, the subtle tick that makes your skin crawl.
Oh behold the clock on the wall, defy it not, for duty calls.
The most demanding of faces have little features, nothing more than a foe to the thrill seeker.
If you're ahead of its hands you're a lucky devil, if you're falling behind, you've a weak schedule.
To a child a clock is the enemy of fun, to an adult a clock assures you have none.
It's hands have one job, to never wait.
They're not too friendly, for they never wave.
If you're feeling lost the clock will show you the way, It'll tell you when to go, and how long to stay.
It lacks a tune, but will play you 'till the grave, no shackles or chains, but it has many slaves.
It'll tell you what you have and haven't accomplished, the conscience may be it's favorite accomplice.
It's the sad truth you've no choice but accept, it rules you in the wake, it ruled you while you slept.
The clock will tell you how long it's been, the clock will tell you when things begin.
The clock can scream at you, while being so silent, what time are you reading this, and what time did I write it?
I'm writing this now, now I wrote it then, as quick as you read this, it's already past-tense.
The world with the clock is a scary place, because with so much time to lose, it's always a race.
