Ticking In Its Weary Pace
Time is writ upon my face
My heart ticks in its weary pace.
Though wind and rain do leave their trace,
I watch them in their endless race.
What kind of clock is it, though?
My heart ticks in its weary pace.
Though wind and rain do leave their trace,
I watch them in their endless race.
What kind of clock is it, though?
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I have scales but I don't measure weight
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I'm colorful but I'm not a rainbow
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