takingthursday
08/04/03, 01:26 PM
The Minute Hand Won't Stop Spinning
Staring into the eye of the wall
Where eternity will always stand tall
The precious letdown
Has rolled forward with it's countdown
The week's been taken by storm
And winds have carried off with
Possessions to mark us as the norm
Anchored deep into the backs of minds
The world shuts them out by closing their blinds
And on lines we were told to sign
We hand over our shadows
In empty hospitals with no men in white around
A line in which we must fold our arms and wait
To make a notable attempt at such a claim
All for awhile and for all our time, they we must pay
These wrinkled men in their wrinkled fabric
A wrinkle in time
Leaving a sour bitter taste of lime
Only ones who can claim to be winning
When the minute hand won't stop spinning
And all while the bomb keeps ticking
Staring into the eye of the wall
Where eternity will always stand tall
The precious letdown
Has rolled forward with it's countdown
The week's been taken by storm
And winds have carried off with
Possessions to mark us as the norm
Anchored deep into the backs of minds
The world shuts them out by closing their blinds
And on lines we were told to sign
We hand over our shadows
In empty hospitals with no men in white around
A line in which we must fold our arms and wait
To make a notable attempt at such a claim
All for awhile and for all our time, they we must pay
These wrinkled men in their wrinkled fabric
A wrinkle in time
Leaving a sour bitter taste of lime
Only ones who can claim to be winning
When the minute hand won't stop spinning
And all while the bomb keeps ticking