A Broken Thing

I'm a broken clock

A busted chair

An inoperable lock

An out of order escalator

Though I can be fixed

I seldom will see the wrench

They would rather have me nixed

Put into the trench

And want to know my reply?

Silence

How do I say goodbye?

Acceptance

Call me broken

Call me trash

Others will and have spoken

Of treasure, garbage, and cash

I am a dead ceiling fan

But when I'm put on display

People never ask me if I once ran

They asked me how I came to be this way

Oh, and the tales I then tell

Of the many years that passed

Of good times and of living hell

The roles in which I've been cast

No longer am I a broken thing

Now a living piece of histories

An object that exists to sing

Past and Present, War and Foreign Seas