Clouds

Pyrus: What is happening to my mind? It is all clouded over, too well protected from the sun. It doesn't burn anymore, as it used to. Doesn't get scorched, or pierced by the moon any longer. I have ceased to feel, and know it is because of the ticking clock. No tears, no words.

Tyrol: That is a lie, a lie! You lie, you feeling thing, you sentient, joculating being. Your mind is hardly protected from that light bulb, aye, let alone the sun!

Pyrus: But the clock!

Tyrol: The clock is in your heart. And it never rushes. Even when it's beating like mad, how incredibly slowly it keeps time, compared to, say, a mouse's heart, or a fly's.