Tick, tick 
A golden vest covers the glass. 
Tick, tick 
An arm stretches out made from brass. 
60 pulses in a minute, 
Thousands of rotations make time infinite. 
Tick, tick 
 
Spherical reflection catches endless attention, 
Tick, tick 
Broadening time,  
Diminishing time, 
Both notorious for creating a tension. 
 
Although the brass can be wound back, 
Inability to recover the time is a hardening fact. 
Tick, tick 
All your time will eventually come, 
To reveal the depths of what you have become. 
Each pulse, each minute, 
Each tick from within it, 
Represents the life you have already endured, 
And the many more rotations that make time infinite.