The clock may not mean much to rabbits and owls   Depending on darkness and light   To fly in the night or to hide in a hole   We can do both fairly well      But what is this ticking that saves us from sleep   From light and from warm peace of mind?   It's tin and it's cold and is brutal in years   It's emptiness and broken tears      We'll lie under blossom, we'll dance in the field   'Til rocks start to fall from the sky   We'll swim in the river, and bathe in the sea   And lay 'til our bodies are dry      Then what is this beating that saves me from sleep?   It's wondering, waiting to try   The whole world around me is solemn and old   And loneliness answers my sigh