All this happens, more or less,
while time progresses cynically.
I run from hands, spinning ’round,
but they keep chasing vividly.

They spin through moons and suns
and days; “delirious” you would come
to say, that my condition is today
but i am stable clinically.

“Your time is up” is what you think,
why is it so you speak as mimes?
Clock hands love to stop and wink,
they’ve let me catch my breath this time.

The worst of things may end my verse,
the best of things will end this curse.
I run from hands inside a clock,
that tic so fast I cannot walk.

I know one day I’ll jump above
and land on top of clocks.
Then my friend I’ll be on time,
and my efforts would prove sublime.

Immortal.
I’ll be the king of all I see;
Marking clocks with R.I.P.
Deny he, who may challenge me,
So when Death calls, I’ll be glad,
I have caller I.D.