Clocks were an often, much wound thing
'Twas the ticking tone that only knew
the time of things
Just a measured way of living
In segments that are given
And on the hour, oft' a bell would ring!

Quartz! Now our clocks stay so still
If a morning's missed, two batteries fizzed
and your world goes ill
And you linger as it just wont start
Across the room you fling
Once clocks were an often, much wound thing

And you linger as it just wont start
Across the room you fling
Once clocks were an often, much wound thing