Tension mounts with time; and time proceeds
To fill the cup of laughter till it bursts
And yet the vat of tears which noone needs
Is like a weak and bending sheaf of reeds
With what to quench our thirsts?

Wine grows old with age; and age withstands
The ravages of marriage on the rocks
The ravages of mining on the hands
On haunted coasts in funny faroff lands
Whose time is wrecked by clocks

Something's ticking loudly,
Something rather round
Someone's watching proudly
Noone hears the sound.

Miners grow each winter gambling debts
Have brought the callgirl's sorrow to the fore
Which yet exceeds the terror of the pets
Which always fear the presence of the vets
Who make them suffer more

Someone's crying sadly
Pitiful to see
Someone's dying gladly