Sixty Pulses
Sixty Pulses
Dust motes drift in a thin window frame,
The air doesn't move, it just stays the same.
Counting the pulse in the floorboards below,
Watching the second-hand patiently go.
Sixty pulses and nothing has changed,
The edges of light are slowly rearranged.
A million more seconds are waiting in line,
Quietly borrowing pieces of time.
(quietly borrowing pieces of time)
It's always just now.
Just now.
Lyrics by Scott J. Hunter.