I have an oil-slick grip on a dying past
let alone the feelings that would never last
those days are slipping from my past
and I am not to, once more, taste it

But destiny will have it's way
tomorrow builds off yesterday
it's wings will rip, and feathers fray
with thoughts of how not to waste it

the puzzle pieces slowly part
but from my mind, and from my heart
I know the pattern day must soon restart
and that I should never haste it