Now it’s twelve minutes past,
How much time do these things take me to do,
At fourteen you do ask,
It depends if I have something to say,
Now I am at fifteen,
Or if I’m just writing for writing’s sake,
‘cause when I don’t I feel it’s a failing,
Then seventeen pops up its ugly head,
I’m not against a clock,
But how hard do you have to think sometimes,
To feel that you have talked?
It took a while,
To think of that last one,
Now you know what I’m able to produce,
From one eleven to one twenty-one.
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