We are prisoners of time
Made of ticks and tocks
Bound under a crystalline face
Each morning we beg our master to
wake us
Angry still when he does
Yet each day we fall on our knees
We subject ourselves to his whim
In exchange for a few minutes of
sunshine
We deprive ourselves
This master is not of nature
For birds don’t heed his presence
Yet still we flock to him
Although we lament our misfortune
We’d be lost in our forward
motion
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