The Clock

(An adaptation of a theme which I chose myself and upon which I have now elaborated.)

The clock ticks on, day after day,
It has since Adam's time they say,
But what is time? And who are they?
And let it stop, oh please, I pray.

For time is nothing but a clock — a dumb machine.
Please let it stop.
It says get up! to go to bed! to go to work!
Oh how I dread that ticking, ticking of the clock
As seconds pass and hours fall behind me.
I'd rather live my life in peace,
Without that chiming, ringing beast.
It clings! It grabs! It chokes my wrist!
It lurks in corners of my room,
On table tops, in village shops,
At school, at work ... I want to shirk.
But still it leads me on.
And I must follow.

What man or beast created this –
A lifeless hunk of metal scrap
That leads my life ... my ...
But wait, it lives! Or am I daft!?!
Its hands are moving round and round,
Its face is staring at me now.
And yes, it even talks,
Or ticks as I should rather say.
But either way, it lives, and leads us all.
It tells us to be born and die.
It tells us when it's time to cry.
But now I'll close this short refrain,
I'm beckoned by my watch again.

And on it ticks, day after day,
Since Adams time, or so they say.
But what is time? And who are they?
And let it stop, oh please, I pray!