The spring tightens as the key twists again
the gears click, pistons pump, the hammer strikes
Glass eyes gaze – clear, empty, and crystalline.
The brazen cymbals slam open and close
with a loud and crashing monotony.
The painted mouth moves, tired of singing
the same words churned out again and again –
Mechanically harping, spinning down
the roundabout, back through the beginning.
The doors snap. The spring unwinds. The song fades.
An attempt to get the same number of syllables in each line…