Sketches of a perfect world
Defined by stride and everyone's
Paid by the line on which they walk, I'm
Not really sure what I'm talking about
But still I'm content to talk,
I've got another thing to write,
It's due tonight,
I don't know if I'll go to the show 'cause I know
If I go I'll miss the golden hour
That clusters an eighth of a day into sixty minutes
Just for me, a moment in time
When nobody's gone, everyone's here
And soundwaves bounce along for my
Security.
That paper and show gotta go 'cause dammit,
I want my sixty minutes.

Three hundred sixty seconds between
Freedom and home.
Sixty minutes to make history!
After that it's assembly.
I'm just trying to turn this mess they gave me
To a decent working life machine,
Just trying to find the words
Just right to say goodbye
To fourteen thousand memories left behind--
How long'll that take? An hour a day
For fourteen thousand days...

I wish I had more time on my hands.