Perfect broken pocket Father
My tools are at the ready and my hands are merely fractured
Now I see the mechanical side
Your heart is manufactured
Keep counting backwards
I gave you so long
I told you little vapor
Why did you not listen
The clock fell off the chain
I see we've retained no time and the silly little clocks tick off
Poor stretched swelling numbers
Only time will tell
When we're going under
My head rolled off the side
I've lost my train of thought and silly little thoughts clock out
Poor stretched swelling motions
Only God will tell when I get my time straight
Not enough hands for the day for me to even start to say
When I get to the door I want to know You more
My heart is manufactured
I contemplate the war You went through
Just to bring us home.