The dismembered hands of Time,
Choke our lives, practice crime,
They take our lives away,
Make us old and feeble, on the way
I hate Time!
I don't know how to keep it,
Sweep it or beat it!
So I disregard it
But its always there,
Counting the minutes,
In its lair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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