We are clockwork you and I clockwork until the day we die. Watch us dance and fly across the room in a uniformed coordination Ticking so elegantly; arcs of pronounced stand - ard - i - za - tion We begin and end with a tick and a tock of the clock on the wall until we fall. But the (fundamental) difference between you and I are our hands. The hands that have given us so much pain the hands that skip and wane and fall behind tempo of our perfectly timed tango and oh! how that burns. Why is this? It is because you are the minute and I am the hour. We meet in the middle -- O! how sour -- four and twenty times a day and yet only agree twice (and I say:) (in our way.) You are so much faster than I, in all walks, in how you talk to others and balk at brothers and galk at lovers. O! O. O... A tick and a tock and then we drop. A tick and a tock. Let us stop for now, and enjoy what time we have.