Clockwork

The sun forgets my name again,
I wake in gray, I stay in bed.
The ticking hand comes to my arrest,
To remind me of the loop without a rest.

I trade my breath for boards and keys,
Bow to deadlines, plead with fees.
My soul's on lease, my life is sold,
A loop of labour, dull and cold.

Coffee, silence, work, repeat,
Dreams decay beneath my feet.
Weekdays blur, and weekends lie.
Brief illusions that we buy.

I watch my life through filtered glass,
Each moment staged, then let it pass.
I do not fly, I just obey.
A captive to the working day.

The night arrives not as a friend,
But just the means to start again.
No peace, no pause, no room to grow.
Just gears that turn, and on they go.