| Will there be a warning
|
| When the clock stops moving?
|
| Will you have just sixty seconds?
|
| Will you find it boring?
|
| The churning of the ground, you know?
|
| The howl of the hound
|
| Is this girl forever young
|
| Yet shriveled-up and round?
|
| I change the hands of the master clock
|
| Will there be a morning?
|
| Is there such a thing as a day?
|
| Will I wake up tomorrow
|
| And see it walk away?
|
| Does it sleep out under the ocean?
|
| If disturbed, does it yell?
|
| Does it visit other dawns
|
| Or underneath a spell?
|
| The seconds are under my control
|
| And I don’t ever want it to stop
|
| Changing time in my head
|
| It’s so easy to do
|
| Fast forward the present
|
| It’s so easy to do
|
| Will there be a warning
|
| When the clock stops moving?
|
| Will you have just sixty seconds?
|
| Will you find it boring?
|
| Late night, upstairs
|
| I was sitting in a chair
|
| In charge of those machines
|
| The function, the repair
|
| I change the hands of the master clock
|
| My eyes were on the screen
|
| Of my own interest
|
| It was a kaleidoscopic burst
|
| Of geometric matrix
|
| There were rows of lights
|
| Set up there, threes and twos
|
| Linking at different speeds
|
| Colors, and hues
|
| The seconds are under my control
|
| And I don’t ever want it to stop
|
| Changing time in my head
|
| It’s so easy to do
|
| Fast forward the present
|
| It’s so easy to do
|
| Can’t see 'cause I’m trippin'
|
| On the yellow and blue
|
| Holographic visions
|
| When I’m sitting near you |