Ticking away
Running out
I only have so long
I must get it done.
What will I do
I really have no clue
When my time
Finally
     Runs
         Out

I am the cuckoo clock,
Precise,authentic,steadfast  as a rock.
All day long,
Tick tock, tick tock goes my song.
Hung on the wall,
In the main hall,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick,
Not a wink,
My pendulum swings to and fro,
As I view people come and go.
On the dot of the hour,
My cuckoo slides in and out of the door,
Chirps a lovely cuckoo call,
Young and old in the hall,
They cheer all.
I am their cuckoo clock,
A piece of artistic work,
My master's pride,
The family's guide,
To their various routines,
For many many seasons I have been,
On their wall,
In the main hall.

No, I don't have writers block
I just felt pressure under the clock
As if there was an audience I have to please
Give me some time to think this through, please
I have not run out of art
I'm just looking into the beat
The blood has not stilled in my heart
I'm just trying to get back up on my feet

we all have only 3 minutes
3 minutes until we die
3 minutes until the world will burn
3 minutes until our mothers starts to cry
3 minutes, 180 seconds
so don’t you waste it
breathe in
breathe out
the clock will reset [it]

At the swinging of a pendulum
The seconds pass one, by, one.
Like beats of the drum
The spinning of the hands which dictate time

But it ends,
The weight hits the bottom, the pendulum stops swinging
The drum falls silent
With its energy all spent, it stops.

Without the will to continue,
It is allowed to die,
and silence takes over.
As time is allowed to stop.