The Big Hand Is On The Ten, The Little Hand Is On The Twelve, And The Slowhand Is On The Slab

I clawed my way out of the yellow time-bubble and ran for the backstage.
“Stevie!” I yelled. “Don’t get on that goddamned chopper!”
His bodyguards put up a fight, but Stevie got curious and wanted to take a took at me.
Then he punched my lights out, because Clapton had gotten his seat.
I had meant to save them both, but I guess I blew it.
When the “local” Time Society bailed me out, I was given a warning.
And a commendation.
“At least there’s no more ‘No More Tears In Heaven,'” it said. “That song was damned annoying.”