The clock may not mean much to rabbits and owls
Depending on darkness and light
To fly in the night or to hide in a hole
We can do both fairly well
But what is this ticking that saves us from sleep
From light and from warm peace of mind?
It's tin and it's cold and is brutal in years
It's emptiness and broken tears
We'll lie under blossom, we'll dance in the field
'Til rocks start to fall from the sky
We'll swim in the river, and bathe in the sea
And lay 'til our bodies are dry
Then what is this beating that saves me from sleep?
It's wondering, waiting to try
The whole world around me is solemn and old
And loneliness answers my sigh
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