[Story]
In East London, old Tom’s watch shop always had this smell that never really went away — kerosene mixed with that slightly sour metallic scent from worn-out gears.

Tom sat at his oak workbench, a loupe pressed to his right eye. His hands shook a little now and then these days, but once his tweezers caught that hairspring, thin as a strand of hair, the whole world went quiet. All he could hear was his own breathing.

It was just an old watch. Nothing fancy. No big name. The owner was an elderly woman. When she placed it on the counter, she gently brushed her fingers across the dial.

“Tom, it stopped,” she said softly. “I just want to hear it again.”

Tom didn’t look up. He only nodded.

He stared at the tiny gears crossing into each other. It reminded him of his father, back in the day, wearing that greasy apron and sitting in the exact same spot. His dad used to tell him that all these little parts didn’t know each other, but as long as the balance wheel kept beating in the middle, the watch could stay alive.

Back then, Tom was only twenty. All he wanted was to run off to Manchester and start a band. That tiny ticking sound? It drove him crazy. Felt like a cage.

Thirty years later, his daughter Claire walked into the shop on a rainy afternoon. She wasn’t carrying a broken clock. Instead, she handed him a black-and-white ultrasound photo.

“Dad,” Claire said, “listen to this.”

She played a recording from her phone.

The sound was fast — faster than any drumbeat, faster than any watch could ever tick. And somehow, it was strong. Shockingly strong.

Tom froze.

Under his hand, the half-repaired old watch shifted just a little. The second hand started to move, struggling at first — once, then twice.

Inside that narrow little shop, the quick pulse from the recording and the slow tick of the watch overlapped.

Tom looked at Claire and suddenly noticed the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. This shop used to be the place he couldn’t wait to escape from. Now, somehow, it had become the safest place he knew.

He turned around and dug into the back of a drawer, pulling out a velvet box. Inside was an old clock part his father had left behind.

“When the baby’s born,” Tom said, his voice rough, “I’ll make one for them. A precise one. So when they wake up, they’ll know time is still moving.”

Later, the elderly woman came back to pick up her repaired watch. She held it to her ear for a while, then closed her eyes, like she was leaning on someone’s shoulder again.

Tom stood at the shop entrance, watching the sunset.

The shop would close someday. The gears would rust. But the fast little rhythm he had just heard — that beat inside the tiny life in the photograph — would keep going for a long, long time.

[Lyrics]
tick... tick... tick...
Clockwork, clockwork (yeah)

I got time on my hands
and I still can't stop the clock, nah (yeah)
Every tick feel like a second chance
I hold your frequency, don't wanna let go (uh)
Used to think I had to run
but the answer was right here all along, you know
My pops told me fix the broken things
now I fix the broken and I think of home (mm)

Heartbeat match the beat I make (yeah)
齒輪轉，心跳不停歇
Can't fake what's real, can't break what's made
嘀嗒聲裡，有人在等呀

Clockwork, clockwork (yeah)
我的心跳 clockwork
Clockwork, clockwork (uh)
時間留給我 clockwork
Tick tick, feel it though (yeah yeah yeah)
怦怦怦，you already know
Clockwork, clockwork
這就是我的 clockwork

She walked in with a sound I never heard (uh)
one small dot on a screen, almost didn't believe
But that's my blood hitting different
strongest thing I ever heard, yeah, no cap (yeah)
My father's hands, they fixed the world in silence
all them gears and all them years, I see it now (mm)
So I pulled out the velvet box he left me
gonna build a clock for you before you come around

Every tick is a pulse
Every cog got a soul
Heartbeat match the beat I make (yeah)
齒輪轉，心跳不停歇
Can't fake what's real, can't break what's made
嘀嗒聲裡，有人在等呀

Clockwork, clockwork (yeah)
我的心跳 clockwork
Clockwork, clockwork (uh)
時間留給我 clockwork
Tick tick, feel it though (yeah yeah yeah)
怦怦怦，you already know
Clockwork, clockwork
這就是我的 clockwork

我的心跳 clockwork
Clockwork, clockwork (uh)
時間留給我 clockwork
Tick tick, feel it though (yeah yeah yeah)
怦怦怦，you already know
Clockwork, clockwork
這就是我的 clockwork

時間是個齒輪 (tick tick)
我是齒輪裡的齒
你是那個讓我轉的中心 (yeah)
有些東西手修不了
只能讓它繼續跑
(tick... tick...)
Every clock gon' stop one day
but this heartbeat gon' outlive the machine (yeah)
Some things you can't fix with your hands
you just gotta let 'em run

Clockwork, clockwork
Clockwork, clockwork (yeah yeah)
我的心跳 clockwork
Clockwork, clockwork (uh uh)
時間給我 clockwork
Tick tick, feel it though (yeah yeah yeah)
怦怦怦，you already know
Clockwork, clockwork

mm... still ticking... yeah...

我的心跳
還在跳

(tick... tick... tick...)

tick... tick... tick...

[Story TradChinese]
倫敦東部，老湯姆的鐘錶店裡總有一股散不掉的煤油味，混合著金屬零件磨損後的微酸氣息。湯姆坐在橡木工作台前，右眼夾著放大鏡。他的手現在偶爾會抖，但當鑷子夾住那根細如髮絲的游絲時，周圍就只剩下他自己的呼吸聲。這只是塊舊手錶，沒什麼名氣。主人是個老太太，她把錶放在檯面上時，手輕輕摸了摸錶盤。「湯姆，它停了。」老太太語氣很淡，「我只是想再聽聽它的聲音。」湯姆沒抬頭，只是點了點頭。湯姆看著那些交錯的齒輪。他想起以前，他老爸也是穿著一身油膩膩的圍裙，窩在同樣的位置。老爸曾跟他說過，這些零件雖然互不相識，但只要中間那個擺輪還在跳，這塊錶就能活下去。那時候湯姆才二十歲，滿腦子想的都是去曼徹斯特搞樂隊，覺得這種微弱的滴答聲悶死人。三十年後，女兒克萊兒在一個雨後的下午走進店裡。她沒帶壞掉的鐘，而是遞給他一張黑白的超音波照片。「爸，你聽這個。」克萊兒放了一段錄音。那聲音很快，比任何鼓點或鐘錶的節奏都要快，而且力道驚人。湯姆愣在那裡，手下那塊修了一半的舊錶剛好被他撥動了一下，秒針開始艱難地顫動，一下、兩下。狹窄的店裡，快節奏的搏動聲和慢悠悠的滴答聲疊在一起。湯姆看著克萊兒，發現她眼角也開始有了細紋。這間店以前是他急著想逃離的牢籠，現在倒成了他覺得最安穩的地方。他轉身從抽屜深處翻出一個絲絨盒子，裡面裝著老爸留下來的一個舊鐘配件。「等孩子出生，」湯姆把盒子遞過去，聲音有些沙啞，「我給他做個精準點的。讓他一醒來就知道時間在走。」老太太後來取走了那塊修好的錶。她把錶貼在耳邊聽了一會，閉上眼，像是重新靠在了誰的肩膀上。湯姆站在店門口看著夕陽。店總會關，齒輪也會生鏽，但他剛剛聽見的那陣急促的節奏，還會在那張照片裡的小生命體內，繼續跳動很久。