On the production line where time is wrapped in cellophane and no two times look quite the same,
where no one bothers to explain
I complain.

I could ****** each second in under a minute but the infinite clock ticks on.
Every hour overpowers me
and as if by some humorous trickery
each day seems much longer and the line becomes stronger.

Time has seeped into my bones
destroying what's left of my few chromosomes
and in monochrome tints
time hints at my death.
Is my last gasping breath to be on the line?
Has everything got to be about time?

And every day I get sicker the line gets much quicker.
My ticket to ride is about to be cancelled.
Denied.
They lied when they cried that we'll all live forever
I never believed it anyway.

On another day at another shift
I lift up my face and catch a glance of the grin.
Time has got into me now
it's too late for me
how
can I escape?