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.