I tell myself it’s just a clock like any other.
A machine made to mark time.
A helpful reminder of minutes and hours,
slipping past, to rise and shine –
Whispering through the night, smiling in the dark
rubbing its hands at the thought of 6:am.
Thought becomes reality, and summoning all powers of evil
it unleashes a BANSHEE WAIL !
A jackbooted marching assault on silence and senses.
Viciously shaking me awake...GET UP!
GET UP! NOW! WORK! WORK! NOW! WORK!
GET UP! GET UP! WORK!
WORK crushes my spirit long before it has
wings to fly.
At time’s inception it’s dead in
Trapped like a cog in the wheel
I roll from slumber searching desperately
for my ship to come in - unfurled freedom upon its mast.
When it does, I’ll sail away.