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Description
The motions of life never cease,
Constantly turning the clock towards
Our most certain end.
There be no stopping this cheap device,
It's sole intention to wreak misery and death.
Sadly and surely all time, effort, love
Will be wasted on souls and contraband
Not even worth what was spent.

We lock pleasures away from ourselves
Only to toil and earn them back.
A paranoxical cycle, an ironic existence.

There are those who waste away,
In this unforgiving machine,
Never attempting time consuming--
And ultimately useless--affairs of the heart.

[For what good is finding little solace
When an end to it is as inevitable
As the passing of days?]

Answer me this.
What worth is there in the hardships
Of such a dismal life?

Time will never give back that which I lost,
That which I deserved, but was yanked from my grasp.
Cogs turn,
Hands tick,
We turn to ash.

Description
The motions of life never cease,
Constantly turning the clock towards
Our most certain end.
There be no stopping this cheap device,
It's sole intention to wreak misery and death.
Sadly and surely all time, effort, love
Will be wasted on souls and contraband
Not even worth what was spent.

We lock pleasures away from ourselves
Only to toil and earn them back.
A paranoxical cycle, an ironic existence.

There are those who waste away,
In this unforgiving machine,
Never attempting time consuming--
And ultimately useless--affairs of the heart.

[For what good is finding little solace
When an end to it is as inevitable
As the passing of days?]

Answer me this.
What worth is there in the hardships
Of such a dismal life?

Time will never give back that which I lost,
That which I deserved, but was yanked from my grasp.
Cogs turn,
Hands tick,
We turn to ash.