The sands of the hourglass fall so swiftly,
Like every minute is but a grain of salt away.
I'm telling time but it passes too quickly for me to catch up.
I don't know why I don't have a regular watch,
This seems more artsy.
The sand represents seconds,
All falling down, all never to be regained.
They are lost amongst themselves,
Lost time, time that I lost,
Time that cannot be regained.
I don't delegate my time properly.
I'm too busy thinking of more poetic things,
I'm sitting here thinking of the hourglass sands
As livid seconds lost amongst a mesh of themselves,
All the while thinking,
Why don't I have a real watch?
I don't think I like this hourglass business anymore.
I think I'll break it open and get back those seconds I lost,
Seconds I've stolen from someone else's agenda.
Such is the life of an hour glass.
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