On the clock there was a tick,
That never seemed to make it
It's desire was to stop,
But it was captive to the tock.
So, the tick kept spinning round,
Irriated by its own sound,
It had pleaded for release,
But time is hungry like a beast.
The tick will never find an end,
It will consume you and you're friends,
It will keep on running with the tock
Because it is time, or it is not.