When I was young
A boy of ten
While at my father's side
I learned to travel time
My eager mind
Was his to bend
We worked until the dawn
I dreamt amongst his dark devices
I wound the clock
I sealed the door
I sent
My father
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The sharpened crack
The smoldering air
His young assistant pries
His red and bleary eyes
Not gone for long,
But gone for good
I wait to hear him speak
He talks to me in tones advanced
I wound the clock
I knew the score
I sent
My father
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For more