Spinning my wheels no more as the rubber meets the road (Or so they say), the tar beneath my impatiences becomes to ground at which I will one day greet. Backwards Backwards again, I've shattered a glass string that held in place the fine twines of reality, shortly thereafter every clock just stopped working. Backwards Backwards Backwards, is that where we're going? It doesn't feel like it, I wonder what we must look like on the outside.
Time is valuable, even more so when you suddenly find yourself obtaining more of it, my friends locked it away and they stored it in jars, kept in alive they said it would last longer this way. Or so it should until someone broke the fabric of all we hold dear, goodness me what a blunder. Follow me now, I know I don't know where I'm going but I can venture a guess, and at the very least you'll have a madman for company; and really where could that possibly go wrong?