Tick-Tock, perhaps?

Can I really do this?

Do I really want to do this?

Would I not rather run 

or lie down with my children

in my arms and watch the sun 

go up and down, a glowing yo-yo?

The rhythm of the tick-tock clock,

the kisses of the gorgeous 

fairy by my side,

the same view of the same balcony,

day in day out, the rhythm of

the Swiss precision clock.

The money and the vault,

the honey and the cold,

the rhythm of the droplets

on my window pain.

The tears, the smiles, the loneliness,

the fears, the lies, the sweet caress,

the beating rhythm of the emptiness.

Would I not rather lie and die or run,

or watch the swirling clouds 

together with my growing sons

and listen to the rhythm of their song?

Tick-tock, tick-tock,

the rhythm of the lonely clock

and in its arms I lie

and die, perhaps?