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Tuesday, 3 December 2013

Clocks on the wall

Clocks on the wall, clocks on the wall;  
Our arrogance and ignorance are based on the fact that we get the air we breathe for free, I am seizing it; clocks on the wall, clocks on the wall, which one are you, breathe easy

Melt down, solid into liquid, with sweats, dripping of the forehead, did I say I would be gone this long, never mind the clocks on the wall, the clocks on the wall

They only tick tock to distract my concentration. I am versed, well versed in this chapter, call me a character I play my part, we have come this far, this long away, looking for the start line

There, here we stand still trying to make sense of this season, next season on the horizon, never mind the clocks, the clocks, they just tick tock to bore me

Calling out count down like a match to my death bed, never mind where you were left standing, I heard another one, lost his wings to the winds

And my love just buried my heart 6 feet under on doubt of my relevance but made men have to learn to climb out of graves, dirty hands as necessary

Like diamonds in the ground, pressure is requisite to change form, don't bother if it doesn't make sense to you, never mind, you are a lost sheep like the rest, clocks on the wall

The key is still enlightenment ask the rich to define his worth, we are the richest when we are at peace with ourselves, gold is just a metal, meddling; the priest is at a loss finding reasons

Needing others to acknowledge, what is ego to the blind man, blind to vanity, I am not impressed with name calling of the shallow waters, we dive deep

To find meaning of life, forget about the accolades some are addicted to the fame game, needing to be seen to feel alive

What is your excuse, your existence based on, were you not born alone, we all get our 15 minutes of fame on burial grounds then suddenly some would remember they once loved us, us

Yes you and find enough tears to wet the ground to quicken the grave dig, bury the bastard, what is next on the agenda. What is the worth of life, meaning

Last week I saw a professor being buried and the drunk was the only one who celebrated life at his funeral, everyone else was so self conscious..

Clocks on the wall and I am still with my writer's block....tick tock and the sound just haunts me tick tock, I don't need this bullshit tick tock, God! tick tock.. clocks on the wall

1 comment:

  1. Kodjo, this must be wonderful to perform out loud at open mic. Love it! I especially like "my love just buried my heart 6 feet under on doubt of my relevance but made men have to learn to climb out of graves, dirty hands as necessary". An awesome write. I see no trace of writers' block!!


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