Do you wonder what a Roman Centurion thought as he gazed at his sundial?
A sundial so reliable yet, always unfashionable during storms.
Beneath the umbrellas of countless metronomes, a symphony of chaos reigned.
Who programmed the cuckoo to sing out of tune? The gods of time mock us.
The void cradles that ticking sound – correct, and yet, woefully inaccurate.
Every moment wasted is a quartz battery slot waiting for an emergency donut.
A voyeuristic clock: always watching, perpetually late.
Is this time or merely an empty hand on a broken watch?
Ah, dear inventive souls of discontinuity, your gaffes conjoin our laughter.
Inventor of the unsad trumpeting clock, though it never made it to fashionable flummox.
And as they clanged, the crowd guffawed – tick-tock ba-da-bum!
Laundromats and horology: a dish of washed-out math wrapped in potential disasters.
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