Flicking the chain of a silver shot pocket watch, flicking,

Slicking back hair like you don't really care but still slicking,

The tick and the tock of the clock in your pocket is ticking,

Put on your coat and step out the door, lock clicking.

 

Your feet hit repeat as the steel at your heel is sounding,

On the pavement below and you know it'll stop your heart pounding,

The rhythm of the beat as your feet hit the street's resounding,

You don't look around but stare at the ground 'cos it's grounding.

 

The sound of your shoes helps you push out the doubt and block it,

You have to make time so you pull out your watch and clock it,

The look on your face when get to that place says you'll rock it,

The man with the slicked back hair and the watch in his pocket.