The clock sets the hour... or not...

 The clock stops existing at the good moments

It only marks the hour of our birth and our death

Which are always moments of excruciating pain for people.

Thank U - Alanis Morissette

How 'bout getting off of these antibiotics?
How 'bout stopping eating when I'm full up?
How 'bout them transparent dangling carrots?
How 'bout that ever elusive kudo?

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How 'bout me not blaming you for everything?
How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once?
How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you?
How 'bout grieving it all one at a time?

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

The moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it
Was the moment I touched down

How 'bout no longer being masochistic?
How 'bout remembering your divinity?
How 'bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out?
How 'bout not equating death with stopping?

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you, thank you silence

Yeah, yeah
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Glen Ballard / Alanis Morissette

Thank U lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

 Both dancers in the dark, like dented souls that had never seen each other become one at the first glimpse;

Those words like a homeopathic drug, every day, a little bit of the old stinky venom, from the womb to the tomb;

That bell like a ticking bomb on the brain for whom it tolls;

The hell like Dante's inferno, no fire nor water, just nothing rolls.

 Al - Does orange think that it's brighter than gray?
Jo - Yes, he wrongfully does.
Al - Will it ever think otherwise?
Jo - Not likely, because it only knows the existence of itself.

Shipwreck

 Every pore leaks; the subcutaneous bleeds tell off the decades of the obvious abusing slavery; it's from the ship's womb throughout the galley till the shipwreck; no life emerges, you can only see the rays of light crossing the water to the darkness deep as the bodies sink in slow motion like jelly fish giving up swimming.

  You're the memory of warm rain sprinkling my face when I'm swimming in the ocean and the day is hot and everything is faraway. You're the hard sun, high on top of the mountain, bathing the hills and making all animals search for shade. You're the blank wall at which I stare and see myriads of mysteries.

  Remembering all people, with what may seem ridiculous associations, are just frequent triggers of their layers: through songs, their collections, hobbies, studies, works, illnesses, obsessions, jobs, the smell of a soap and the scent of a perfume; the foods, the objects and the people they like. But only the children for their hearts.

(Polunin inspired also)

 Both dancers in the dark, like dented souls that never had seen each other become one at the first glimpse. 

Those words like a homeopathic drug, every day, a little bit of the old stinky venom, from the womb to the tomb. 

That bell like a ticking bomb on the brain for whom it tolls

The hell like dante's inferno, no fire nor water, just nothing rolls.

This is not a poem.

 I'm tired of seeing towers of black smoke and columns of fire, mushroom clouds and no more blue skies in the horizon. I'm tired of having to see oil blackening the ocean and killing everything in an instant spreading. I was already tired of not seeing any true faces and right now the use of masks all over seem just a redundancy.

I want to see the forests and the sea of trees and delve deep into a more pure air than this around me, till I feel my lungs have no incapacity at all. I want to go to Aokigahara and never look anymore at my wrist veins. I need the depression monster to go away and stop haunting me before the despair or the instant insensitivity allows it to win this darkness war. And yes, I need (to go back to our primordial home) and want to dive in the ocean and not come back ever again to land. 

"I'm tired, boss." Very, very, really, really. 

When the days expire and only beauty rises above sadness and joy...

 Have you asked Time to be your friend? Do you believe it to exist just like mankind defines? Your whole life is put in boxes in what seems a never-ending construction site, but as the filing occurs some get lost in the palace of mind. When your memories are covered with the dusty cement and the orange dry mud of the bricks, and you can't see through them, who are you then?