Sometimes, I get to feeling
so wound up,
Like an antique clock
with a nervous tick
and an arrhythmic tock.
A metronome with an off-center weight,
My  --  first and third beats always a  --  rriving late.
Like that top E string when it's strung too high, I shake,
'til on a strong downbeat, beat down I break,
snapping in a moment that passes too quickly to see.
But the last note I sang,
that reverberating twang,
my cry out: though broken,
I'm finally free.