Time, time, time, take a look at yourself, fossilised, ludicrous, sighing. The hands turn slowly, slowly, then stop. Nothing left to say, nowhere beckoning now.

Clouds stand still and we fade away, misty green and blue ghosts swirling down through the ages in minutes and seconds of life.

She’s a lady, she’s got love on her side, and time, relaxed, unconscionable, mocking days as the months fly by.

People rush, brushing shoulders and lips, while the clocks tick away, the moments that add up to dull grey. Round and round, the years go round and round, and many a dreamer tumbles to the dusty city ground.

It’s a time of no reason, passages running through seasons of longing and lust.

Smash the watches, silence the phone, let the hours beg to bark their mournful tone alone.

And allusion shall be my epitaph, as tomorrow never shows we’ve already lost enough, and I know that I am slowly dying.