Something that shook loose, today. A little verse, a sort of lyric about aging, finitude, holding things together as they inevitably fall apart, the ultimate futility of it all, the entropic downdrift of existence, what have you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Attached is a not especially well sung recitation. It’s as close to how I imagined it as we’re likely to get without someone stepping up to offer superior vocals and instrumental support.

There’s a kettle on the shelf that’s lost its spout,
And a crack runs through the plaster on the stair,
The lawn’s in need of seeding,
And the cellar wants swept out —
There’s so much that’s fallen into disrepair.

And the axis of the planet’s shaking loose,
And every strand’s determined to unwind.
Even as I lift the mallet,
Something else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

There’s some flaking of the paint up in the hall,
And the barrow in the yard has lost its wheel,
The polish on the table top
Has clouded and gone dull.
I’m made of flesh not everlasting zeal.

There’s dust on every lintel hereabout,
And my mind’s become a little dusty too,
There’s cobweb in its corners
And the bottom’s falling out,
And I’ve really not the faintest what to do.

I’ve forgotten where I put the cotter key
And without this jot, the scaffold’s insecure;
Still, I need to glaze the window,
Lest the pane falls free,
So, roll the die and all my sins abjure.

For the axis of the planet’s shaking loose,
And every strand’s determined to unwind.
Even as I lift the rip saw,
Something else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

The assembly in the lock is seizing up,
And the fencepost is splitting in the heat,
A drip’s formed on the waterpipe,
Here’s a chipped old china cup,
And my heart, I feel, is ticking just off-beat.

There’s mottling in the silver of the mirror,
Still it reveals the crazing on my face.
The nickeled latch is pocked,
My forgetfulness gets queerer —
Losing hours hunting phantoms I misplace.

There’s a tear in my trousers needs a stitch
And a gasket in the spigot’s rotted dry.
The floor is due for waxing.
This lamp’s got a faulty switch.
It drooped a bit, so I propped up the sky.

Yes, the axis of the planet’s working loose,
And every cord is hell-bent to unwind.
Even as I lift the pliers,
Something else goes out of use;
No sooner bind it up, the bonds untwine.

From decadence to decadence we go,
The balance-pin has popped, the watch has stopped,
The crystal’s cracked
And all of time’s gone slow —
Winding down, the second-hand has dropped.

The clockwork’s stopped and we’ve all gone out of use,
It’s all gone out of use, we’ve all gone out of use.
No sooner bind it up, then the bonds untwine,
We lose the thread of rhyme, and we all run out of time.

We all run out of time.