Why does this 

Life 

Evolve 

And revolve 

Around minutes 

Dripping and squeezing 

And ticking and tockimg 

And oozing 

The very life 

And soul 

Of the party 

Which seems 

To offer so much 

And show 

So little 

I mean 

Take Sunday night 

For example 

I long for that 

Machine of your 

Dreams 

With peddles and paddles

And 

Cogs

And wings 

And feathers 

And a stiff set of brakes

Which can stem the tide 

Of 

A bottle of something 

To help you 

Forget 

And 

The inevitable 

Monday morning 

Hammering the keys 

Of the alarm 

You’d give 

Everything 

Not to hear 

But 

Bloody hell

We’re earthily 

Eerily 

Mortal 

And there’s no soil

Or trees 

To numb 

The turn 

And the grind 

Of the crashing 

Weekend waves 

And the return 

To the robotic 

Mess 

We fight our 

Whole lives 

To avoid