It’s a long hall for walking,
Goes nowhere with no talking,
All openings locked away
No windows to show the day.
There’s a line in the middle.
Where shall I walk, where to be,
Are my choices only three,
To the On or Left or Right ,
Circle day and into night.
There’s a line in the middle.
Clock-wise time my mind can wind,
Counter times I also find,
Measured by constant pacing,
Slow in moves with mind racing.