We all walk the same road, from nothing to nowhere, |
from beginning to end.
Heading towards that little hourglass
which is marking off a much shorter time than we expect. Not even time to boil an egg.
We dance to different tunes.
Wind any of the knobs .. there are music boxes to play us away.
Oh, and when the music fades, listen carefully ... there's a clock ticking.
Dance till they drop you.
The little figures? I don't know what country makes souvenirs with this distinctive facial structure.
Anonymous, growing old as they follow their olders.