The story
He keeps time like a wound that never closes.
He counts the hours by what slips through them: coffee cooling, shadows stretching, headlights cutting past the window. Morning asks him to move on, noon keeps him honest, and night leaves him alone with the clock, where every minute lands like proof that the day has already gone.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.