They twist the key on my back

To get me up in the mornings.

Creaking joints,

Click, click-

So I blink.

 

Click.

 

Clockwork machine

Ticking, ticking.

The mind never stops,

Not even in sleep.

Can't stop, won't stop . . .

Don't stop.

 

Click.

 

Even a wind-up toy like me can see

The world for what it is.

Click. Click. Click.

Every image burns my wooden eyes

But there are no tears;

After all, how can a wind-up toy cry?

 

I'd speak up, I really would, I swear I would--

But my mouth has been painted as a

Pretty

Rosy

Line.

 

There is no tongue to bite.

 

Click.

 

They twist the key on my back

And my pretty rosy mouth cannot speak

Even though

The mind never stops-

And neither can I.