Walking past the passersby
No one has a clue that I
have a dead man’s watch inside
my right front pocket

Crack a smile and nod along
all the while I keep on
slowly tracing fingers round
and I can’t stop it

Shouldn’t really mean a thing
yet my mind is out here crafting
stupid fucking metaphors of
running out of time

Guess it’s like they always say:
soon as something goes away
everybody wishes they could
realize and rewind

Windows open at the wheel
More than ever, now I feel
heavy from the watch inside
my right front pocket

I slowly take it out
and drop it.