I am the most hated thing at the start of the day till the end of the day.
I hate my job, why can’t I be like that longer fellow?
The people adore him, all he does is push me around and the children smirk and smile when they see me move a little bit father.
He moves every sixty seconds while I only get to move every sixty minutes.
I have been doomed to the same life, a dreadful life of waiting to move around in one big circle.
Everywhere I go people dread to look at me, all they see is time flying away.
I hate it, I hate being this hand on the clock.
I’m told to go faster or slower but no one ever says, “just right”.
I’m that hour hand that counts down the hours left in your life.
I’m that hour hand that everyone can’t stand to look at from the start of the day till the end of the day.