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The Clocks

Convert me to someone with more content
I am a clock whose hours are seventy
For now my views and ideals are bent
Like the ticks and tocks inside of me
What once had been my choices of decision
Remains inconsistent with my clock’s vision

An alter to this would stable my frame
And turn my quakes to the arrows of clocks
Stable me, please, my frame is not same
The ways of the ticks and the ways of tocks
Torn in the center of two deciding picks
Wary of its notion to tocks and to ticks

With more balanced timing I will be free
Though the way it lay I cannot obey,
And be able to set consistency
Or the balance scale, unable to weigh
For them may timers someday find a track
And ten extra minutes the clock may lack




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