Clocks tick and time goes on,
I wish to see the numbers gone.
You will be then in my embrace
as we, together, beat time’s race.
Seventy-Eight, and a few hours less,
then I will feel again — your caress.
It’s true that distance pulls apart
the body, yes, but not the heart.
Tick, tick, tick, the clock goes round,
and counting down: the girl and a frown.
Why are there no remotes in life?
I would fly forward, without strife.