As the seconds tick by
the wheels begin to lurch.
Time is but a lie
but we follow it like clockwork.
The pendulum begins to climb
the setting sun is but a ruse.
There is no such thing as "time"
the gears begin to slip loose.
The clock is only there to remind
that no one is perfect, or pure.
The pendulum falls, lost nothings we can't find
and the numbers fade, so we try to find a cure.
But the ticking won't go on forever
the need will always lurk.
The small cracks in the glass face;
What would we do without clockwork?