Time is a thing uncaring and crude
Stealing away what we hold true
Life, most precious of our possessions
Flickering neigh, as time consumes us
Corrupting, corroding our styles of life
Slowly, the silent killer of the night
Taking down the mountain and drying out the sea
Giving not a care to what may come of me
High or low, ere you go, time will find you there
Bird or bee, fish or flea, time is still aware
Take your time, for it’s not mine to give or spend my dear
Time will come along, to sing its song
And you may disappear…