The hands still tick, the clock still works, my mind won't skip

But confident? Not this metronome

Not this brave hand plunging forth to dictate time

Brave but jittery, constant and cyclic

And never quite willing to accept

A fast second's hand, a slow hour traveling on

 

It's not that broken, really

It takes a while to stop telling the right time

It takes a while to lose its purpose

 

The hands sitll tick, the clock still works, my mind won't skip

We work. Clock and I.

We work without a mind

To where the progress runs to

To how we consume our time

But I'm not willing to accept

A fast second's hand, a slow hour traveling on

 

No reference pont? No error.

We work. Clock and I.

And we are always right.

Inside this room, we're right.

Outside this room, there's contact.

 

Outside this room no one will accept

A fast second's hand, a slow hour traveling on

A fast mind and a slow hand 

 

But at some point, the hours won't match the days

And the mind won't feel the passing

Arbitrary metronome and arbitrary monotone

Not that broken, really

Need to start the day

And rewind to noon to be whole again

 

We work. Clock and I.

We've worked on nothing for too long.

We've ran from sunlight and from moonlight

From conscious and unconscious

For the salvation of being right

The drug of affirmation

The abyss of victory in solitude

And we decided the time is right