Making Time
You’d think it was magic the way
You can’t make time
What do I do then?
Do I dance naked under the moon
In blood rituals or some such because
My time seems so frowned on
Do I boil it or shake it,
Pass it through ye old apparatus
Like an alchemist of old -
Because I’m trying to find gold
And seem to have failed you.
Perhaps I’m just a penitent praying
For a miracle because
It doesn’t seem to be coming
And I got my time for free but
Where’s yours?
I made my time, out of care
And in hope of love for you
It’s a simple magic and so
I have to ask,
Where’s yours?
