Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The man with the hour glass turns the top.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The people pass by along the shop.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Wind, zip. Wind, zip.
The turnkey rotates to the tip.
Wind, zip. Wind, zip.
The handles turn at quite a clip.
Wind, zip. Wind, zip.

Ding, dong. Ding, dong.
The clocks they sing, all sing along.
Ding, dong. Ding, dang.

What's that noise so dissonant?
It doesn't match the others' chants.It looks the same from the outside,
but taken apart, thick rust it hides.

Ding, dang. Ding, dang.
The other clocks have noticed the clang.
They point it out and cry "for shame!"
It seemed quite clean until it changed.

DING! DANG! DING! DANG!
Suddenly, the voices rang!
Off key together as they sang!

The maker inspects them one by one,
and as he does, he checks their lungs.
The speckled red that clings on tight,
Until it covers all that's bright.

The maker goes and sorts them out.
He cleared and sorted without any doubt,
He takes the broken, speckled, worn,
and cast them into the furnace.

He gathers up the rest, and puts them in a bag,
"Why choose us?" they ask, "why do we move on?"
"Because I loved you first, and you believed in me."
"Come along you true, you clear and chosen few."

With that he shut the door, and he closed up the shop,
for the very last time, and completely sealed the lock.
And as he walked away, a gazer saw the words that curled
Across the doortop, its letters read: "The World."