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There was a young boy in a clock yard |
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Building himself from the pieces he found |
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Screwing on what's been left on the ground |
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Hoping to finish enough one day to leave |
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The years flew by and some gears fell off |
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Fears and rust and tears he doffed |
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And bravely searched, while parts he scoffed, but soon he found-- |
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There was a young man in a clock yard |
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Building himself from the pieces he found |
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Screwing on what's been left on the ground |
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Hoping to finish enough one day to leave |
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The years flew by and some gears fell off |
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Fears and rust and tears he doffed |
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And bravely searched, while parts he scoffed, but soon he found-- |
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There was a grown man in a clock yard |
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Building himself from the pieces he found |
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Screwing on what's been left on the ground |
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Hoping to finish enough one day to lead |
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He thought to himself, "If I wait too long |
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To find the pieces I need, then my chance might be gone |
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What I need might be outside the gate |
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But I will never know, if I continue to wait." |
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And then he had a dream: |
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An old man cried in a clock yard, |
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Giving up on the scrap that he found on the ground, |
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"I can't build myself from this scrap all around!" |
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The man woke up and said, "I must leave. |
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I must leave. |
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I must leave. |
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I must leave." |
