[Verse] Clock ticks don't spin in a spiral, like grooves in a vinyl, We made that up for survival. It's a figment of the mind To make a line flow through What we know as time.

Gotta keep it turning, everybody's yearning for a purpose Finding meaning in this circus,

A story that fits perfect, when the discourse never drifts off the illusion of progress, or next.

Twenty-four resets to the present Making each sun rise a sunset

Filtering flux through pattern recognition, Trick cognition with ends and beginnings Anything that lends to a feeling of meaning That will drive us to achieve something

Building on the last thing Aiming for the next thing A steady repetition, To give a definition to a life worth living.

[Verse] The sun's spin don't fit to a schedule, just momentum gathered wobbling out of balance. A bit of random chance, we happen to be here for, third row at a peep show.

Just in the infinite, Nothing but hubris dictates we're more.

Same for orbital rotation no indication we're exquisite

A ball of dirt five billion in the making where plankton came from the sea, Saw the night sky and wondered why there were outlines in the dots up above us. Had to be meaning, seemed like the reason of beings. Designed by a hand pre-dating, Indicating something follows, A tomorrow we could plan for.

Labeled the phases, seasons and days in a way we could anticipate, to accommodate what was missing A life worth living.