Where his worth grew by the mere minute, time replaced by drive
This tick – tick clock overhead may as well stop – it’s a noisyness with metal in and nothing else
These prised eyes come over all glazed, consistently stared to someplace called nowhere perched amidst radiant everywhere – a successful day dreamer’s imagined in between
And the words work ironically enough akin to clockwork, big and bounce – about meticulous, where they do oft choose to play in mystifying accordance to his swivel affiliated with swirl hand
Composer – like, he’s finally beginning to see it
And he soon gets to realising he may, just may so suddenly make it