Watch
by Benjamin Mattson
 
 
Hidden behind the golden face, 
Copper gears are spinning round and round, 
A never ending cycle found, 
As hands sweep the minutes and hours away, 
Night passes into day, 
And day into night, 
Days flash by in the blink of an eye, 
Years flash by so quickly one must cry, 
Love blooms and then it dies, 
Why doesn't my watch tell me lies?