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Time … MAG
Time, ticking like an explosive ready to detonate
Time, abundant yet a valuable resource
Time, the chronological pulse that drives us
Time, the concubines that binds us to a ritual
Time, turns into seconds, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years
My time has run out, I suppose
The clock beats reverberating through this fragile world
But the hands of time taken me to the abyss
No time passes here, most agony for an old grandfather clock like me
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