The Dreadful Accounting

That’s thirteen,
Fifteen hours…
And Twenty-four minutes,

Goodnight πŸ™‚,



Sorry, you’re err…
You’re one hour and fourteen minutes short…

Oh, really?
Um, I don’t actually have any more time left,
It’s getting late…

Bodyguard creeps closer in the corner of my eye,

Well, sir,
I won’t be able to let you leave,
Unless you can account for all of the time required,

Yes, yes,
Sure, um…
If I can just pop home and get to sleep for a couple of hours,
I should have enough?

Sir, would you rather be dead?

Wait, what!?

Bodyguard creeps even closer,

I’m afraid there’s no time for that sir…
Sir, this is going to put you in debt,
I’m sorry,
But I’ll have to refer you to the debt collectoβ€”

(Stop fucking saying ‘sir’),
No! Wait,

Surely not!?

Bodyguard pins my arms behind me,

All time has to be accounted for,
Sir, young man,
You must make up for lost time,
Young man,
You’re not going anywhere,
Young man,

Anarchy doesn’t work,
Young man,
The books must be kept in order,
Young man,

You’re going to fucking pay for this,
Young man…

Young man…
Young man…
Young man…
Young man…
Young man…
Young man!!!!!


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