There are clocks in the room
All over the walls
And in my ears
You’d know that wouldn’t you? Need-for-perfection, everything-in-order,
never-running-late. Anyone would think it were a fetish, freak-of-nature.
Think they’re on time?
What do you think?
Wouldn’t know. My watch isn’t in sync.
Always was a useless timekeeper
Then shut your mouth
I’m the conductor
They’re my orchestra
Just sounds like drums to me, drumming in my head, repetition
Counting down the minutes, seconds, till the next disaster
Now you’re just teasing. You make me feel sick. Perfectionist
I’m no psychiatrist, but I’d say a cog’s gone loose in your head
Could say the same
Then let’s not talk. I could do with some peace, away from you
And your clocks and your chatter
Why’s it gone quiet?
Clock is broken.