The Artisan

An eternity to refine,
This is my tale, and my design.

Gears and cogs, nuts and bolts
Round, round my world they go.
Spotless chime, perfect notes:
Only song I'll ever know.


To guide you through the dark,
A true watchmaking orchestra.

For I am Lord and Lamb,
Creator, maestro.
A governed soul I am,
Yet I set the tempo.


See thus the beauty of my trade,
To trace a map that cannot fade.

This journey none can stop
Begs to be set on show.
Its face upon the clock:
On life's train a window.


In this embrace of Metronome,
Lay down your hopes and find your home.

Grains of sand are falling,
No sense to aspire.
Metal hands are dancing:
Lead the ticking choir.


Faith it is that powers our world,
Safety in eternal rebirth.

So despair shan't avail,
For we will ever craft
A stream of new lives frail
To raise new flags a mast.


And as this endless song goes on,
I'll ever toil beneath the throng.

For in my breast there grinds
Precision tectonics.
My manufactured mind:
A cave of clever clicks.