| The clock may not mean much to rabbits and owls
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| Depending on darkness and light
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| To fly in the night or to hide in a hole
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| We can do both fairly well
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| But what is this ticking that saves us from sleep
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| From light and from warm peace of mind?
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| It’s tin and it’s cold and is brutal in years
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| It’s emptiness and broken tears
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| We’ll lie under blossom, we’ll dance in the field
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| 'Til rocks start to fall from the sky
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| We’ll swim in the river, and bathe in the sea
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| And lay 'til our bodies are dry
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| Then what is this beating that saves me from sleep?
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| It’s wondering, waiting to try
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| The whole world around me is solemn and old
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| And loneliness answers my sigh |