And another new song: "The Watch Song"
FinsburyParkCarrots
Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
He left his wristwatch on the counter;
He left the pub and he made to saunter
Out to the edge of the street, where he doubled
And hurled, in embrace of the world.
Then he groaned, “What good’s a watch for?
Just to make me reach each lecture?”
Retching right down to his feet, he redoubled
His strength, and he spoke out at length:
“I
Won’t
Wear
A
Suit
And
You
Won’t
Get
Me
To
Commute.”
He had a prayer-mat in his dorm-room;
He said he’d dreams to start a commune:
Everyone banging a drum, not in time,
But in theme: an anti-chronic scheme.
He’d a plan for a new religion
Where we’d all speak a form of pidgin,
Everyone being half-dumb, like a rhyme
Without metrical feet and a beat:
“We
Will
Rule,
My
Flock,
And
We
Won’t
Need
To
Own
A
Clock.”
(Once a week without fail he’d assemble
Some weekending hippies and heads.
Then they’d dissemble, to flail and to shamble
Until it was time for their beds.)
He’s had this work desk seven years: well,
Seven years, five weeks, two days: well,
Seven years, five weeks, two days, half an hour:
He looks, just to check with the books.
Here he works for the late edition,
Fighting deadlines for his submission,
And eyeing the office clock face with a glower
Of fear, as the moment draws near:
“How
Did
Time
Catch
Up?
Will
This
Tick-
Tock
Never
Stop?”
He left the pub and he made to saunter
Out to the edge of the street, where he doubled
And hurled, in embrace of the world.
Then he groaned, “What good’s a watch for?
Just to make me reach each lecture?”
Retching right down to his feet, he redoubled
His strength, and he spoke out at length:
“I
Won’t
Wear
A
Suit
And
You
Won’t
Get
Me
To
Commute.”
He had a prayer-mat in his dorm-room;
He said he’d dreams to start a commune:
Everyone banging a drum, not in time,
But in theme: an anti-chronic scheme.
He’d a plan for a new religion
Where we’d all speak a form of pidgin,
Everyone being half-dumb, like a rhyme
Without metrical feet and a beat:
“We
Will
Rule,
My
Flock,
And
We
Won’t
Need
To
Own
A
Clock.”
(Once a week without fail he’d assemble
Some weekending hippies and heads.
Then they’d dissemble, to flail and to shamble
Until it was time for their beds.)
He’s had this work desk seven years: well,
Seven years, five weeks, two days: well,
Seven years, five weeks, two days, half an hour:
He looks, just to check with the books.
Here he works for the late edition,
Fighting deadlines for his submission,
And eyeing the office clock face with a glower
Of fear, as the moment draws near:
“How
Did
Time
Catch
Up?
Will
This
Tick-
Tock
Never
Stop?”
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
To me, it's something of a hybrid, I can hear echoes of Lennon, some Dylan, and of course, Fins himself in the music.
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I called it Tick Tock...