Most men run like clockwork. Each piece is relevant to the system. Alas, I am different. I am a clock, like all other men, But I am filled with broken parts: Broken gears, broken hands, And broken everything else. I can no longer move forward in time For my hands are stuck Cursed to tell and retell one minute.
Why would the clockmaker Turn me into a monstrosity? Is this a punishment for my sins Or is it a challenge I cannot win? Am I broken to start with Or is this a cruel joke? I wish not to retell the same time Because it is a time that haunts me. A time that has brought me grief. Fix me, so I may not be stuck.