Years have come and years have passed, many moons have come and gone. The one thing that seems to last Is a clock that ticks too fast To a rhythm, a heart's song. A Tick-Tock, Tick-ety-Tock, I hear the clock’s bizarre chime. I sit here in complete shock As if underneath a rock I’d been living, this whole time. Alas time ever so brief, Can’t be bottled like water, For it’s taken by the thief That lives solely by belief “man should not be his own author” So we shall challenge this crook Who steals our moments away and we’ll start by filling books With futures, in which we look Forward to passing our days away.