When the shiny brand new clock appeared in our small town, they were proud.
Seeking the chance to watch it be assembled piece by piece and sound by sound.
Who questions the essence of a clock tower when it’s purpose is so obvious?
No one, but me, felt as though this clock was something so unnecessarily ominous?
It loomed above us all, reaching out its steely hands in taunting and controlled aggression
Did nobody realize it was controlling our time? Our lives?…Our indiscretions?…
Each time the gong of the bell sounded every hour, they gave it praise and scattered
Descending upon it an unrelenting power that left their moments shattered
How could they not see this clock tower provides no purpose of good?
Thinning the face and the morals of doing what our people should and usually would
How could they not fear its face peering down above us in horrid judgement?
Counting the adulterers, liars, and swindlers, politicians and solicitors needing repent
When the clock strikes you, you naturally do what’s in your nature readily
Reflecting on the pros and cons of it all, but never too heavily
So here I am trying to convince them. Who am I to convince them not?
The truths and horrors of why the lawyers and the mayor really wanted that damned clock
It looms above us in judgement, it knows every sin that we do
The clock is the one who told me. Who am I not to tell you?…