Work, work and more work,
I could do nothing for sure,
and maybe just shirk.
I can not do that,
I am wired to keep working,
it’s the way I’m built.
Nuts and bolts and stuff,
knots and cogs and bits of fluff,
that make whurring sounds.
I am not clockwork,
I often miss the hour chime,
and can’t keep ticking.
