"You have an obsession with time,"
He yelled it so clear.
I've been counting down,
The weeks,
The months,
The years.
"You have an obsession with time,"
It worried me sick.
I spent each day focusing,
The seconds,
The minutes,
The hours.
"You have an obsession with time,"
I felt it close in.
The ticking and tocking that screamed from within,
It pulled at my organs,
It banged on my skin.
"Of course I do, idiot."
But it never got through,
That I can't let go,
Of time's unruly control,
Our work,
Our sleep,
The amount on earth of which we're breathing.
And nevertheless,
It's constantly fleeting.