My watch is made of iron,
Her watch is made of gold,

Now truth be told if they were sold,
Her would fetch a hefty price,
But when telling time, it's the gears inside,
That count and they're always steel, of course.

My gun is made of iron,
His gun is made of gold,

Now, to tell the truth if I could choose,
I'd take his rather, to be real,
But when killing a man you must understand,
The bullet is what seals the deal.

So even with all the advantage,
That gold gives to fat rich swines,
I'm prepared to take my chances with killing men, and telling time.

I'm not sure I was meant for this.
I'm sure I existed far too late.
It seems I came to be in the wrong time era,
and I assure you the wrongest wrong place.
I can hold my head high wherever,
but records and dusty movies are my friends,
they make me feel like I'm home at last;
make me wish the time never ends,
but it did and so forth,
I was not meant for here.
The people, too boastful,
with so much less to fear.
The relationships are wasteful,
and different by the day.
The love and optimism is fading out to grey.
I almost pity the people,
and I find their time more tragic,
while the era I love was suppressed by casual bombs,
the era I'm in has lost all their magic...