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Time
Time, time,
time, take a look at yourself, fossilised, ludicrous, sighing. The
hands turn slowly, slowly, then stop. Nothing left to say, nowhere
beckoning now.
 Clouds
stand still and we fade away, misty green and blue ghosts swirling
down through the ages in minutes and seconds of life.
 She's a lady,
she's got love on her side, and time, relaxed, unconscionable,
mocking days as the months fly by.
People
rush, brushing shoulders and lips, while the clocks tick away, the
moments that add up to dull grey. Round and round, the years go
round and round, and many a dreamer tumbles to the dusty city
ground.
 It's
a time of no reason, passages running through seasons of longing and
lust.
 Smash the
watches, silence the phone, let the hours beg to bark their mournful
tone alone.
And allusion
shall be my epitaph, as tomorrow never shows we've already lost
enough, and I know that I am slowly dying.
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