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?