“Time will tell” says the aging clock
But he fears nobody listens
“Just follow the sounds of my hand”
His words grow louder.
“Because in the end, everything becomes my slave”
The ticking picks up, like a time bomb ready to be defused
“One can escape one’s family, one’s friends”
The whole house is ringing the sound of a singular ticking
“One’s job, one’s bills, one’s wicked loves”
The house begins to crumble in a beautiful, stunning, rhythm matching click
“But one can never escape my hands” says the aging clock
The walls begin to cry, begging, screaming
“My cold, lifeless hands”