Verse 1: The clock ticks on, relentless, cruel, Its hands carve grooves in my daily gruel. The kettle screams, the postman’s late, My life’s a ledger of unpaid fate. Gone are the days, the hours unwound, When minutes lingered, soft, profound. Now time’s a thief in a pinstripe suit, Stealing my years with a clerk’s salute. Chorus: No time, no time, the world’s gone shrill, The calendar mocks from the windowsill. Yesterday will come again, it swears, In the flicker of dreams down creaking stairs. No time, no time, my mind’s a maze, Trapped in the hum of forgotten days. Verse 2: The wireless hums, all static and lies, News of the world through a cracked lens flies. I butter my toast with a trembling hand, Each crumb a relic of a vanished land. Gone are the days of the tram’s slow clank, Of gaslit evenings and coins that sank. Now haste’s the god in this grey routine, My thoughts unravel, frayed, obscene. Chorus: No time, no time, the world’s gone shrill, The calendar mocks from the windowsill. Yesterday will come again, it swears, In the flicker of dreams down creaking stairs. No time, no time, my mind’s a maze, Trapped in the hum of forgotten days. Bridge: The mirror shows a stranger’s face, A map of lines time won’t erase. I speak to cups, to spoons, to chairs, They nod, they know, they’ve seen my cares. The clock’s a tyrant, its chime’s a knell, Each tick a step to a private hell. Yet still I wait, in this crumbling den, For yesterday’s promise to come again. Verse 3: The rain taps code on my windowpane, A Morse of loss in this endless reign. The milkman’s cart, the vicar’s drone, All blur to ash in this monochrome. Gone are the days when the world stood still, When time was a friend on a sunlit hill. Now madness creeps in the mundane’s disguise, A grin in the teapot, a glint in my eyes. Chorus: No time, no time, the world’s gone shrill, The calendar mocks from the windowsill. Yesterday will come again, it swears, In the flicker of dreams down creaking stairs. No time, no time, my mind’s a maze, Trapped in the hum of forgotten days. Outro: I wind the clock, though it scorns my hand, Its gears grind on, like dunes of sand. Gone are the days, yet I cling, I strain, For yesterday will come again. No time, no time, the world’s too fast, I’m chained to the now, but I’ll outlast.
