Were we to run the clocks instead,
We’d plan the world as dreamers do,
With moments set aside for sleep,
The rest carved up for us to use.
The hardest hours would be the ones
Where necessary chores were shared.
Remunerations would be paid
In week-ends stretching on for months.
And soon we’d lose all sense of time,
And clocks would tick ‘til batteries died,
And light and night would merge and mix.
And soon we’d lose all sense of us,
As married day and married dark,
Would form our perfect, timeless heart.