Sr Cabeza de Reloj
Alan Sutton y las criaturitas de la ansiedad
Mr. Clockhead
In a little spot
In a drop of oil
Lives Mr. Clockhead
In his little spot, everything was infinite
And that scared him
And he invented time
And the commandments
And he measured and named everything
Oh, poor Mr. Clockhead!
Today in his little spot
Where everything was infinite
Mr. Clockhead thinks
He dances daily with anxiety
Sings to it his tricks
Looks for some flavor
And he invented morality
And right there, hypocrisy
And separated truth from lies
Now at the twilight of his life, he looks back, Mr. Clockhead
He spent his life searching for what was behind the curtain
And he gathered words, indulged his whims, made him feel better
But as he named them, the words burned him
And love burned away
Oh, poor Mr. Clockhead!
He sang his whole life and never found his voice
And today the TICK TOCK won't let him sleep
Empty in his stomach of gears
And the TICK TOCK, his fatal destiny
He tries but can't stop the hands
And a voice that tells him
Don't waste your time
Don't waste your time
Oh, poor Mr. Clockhead!
