A clock's hands do not move more quickly
During the desperate performance of an act
When in pristine perfection
The tower could not foresee its ruin
The beauty of a rose is not diminished by the fact
That thorns grow upon the stem
The sound of song is still perfectly in tune
Despite the sorrow of the voice
The importance of a task
Is not made more difficult for the danger within
A meteor bringing our ultimate death
Is not brought more near
For her message delivered
It might be as simple as to flip a switch
To forestall our utter doom
Or to easily change the filter
From opaque to clear
