The morning alarm, Seems earlier every day, As hour passes hour, Never giving way.
Seconds, minutes, hours, A rhythmic tick tock. Now everything is measured, By the hands of the clock.
Hours become days, And they become decades, Growing old too quickly, Youthfulness fades.
So many precious moments, Can soon become mislaid, As everyone rushes off, When perhaps they could have stayed.
The seasons are all muddled, Which may well be our fault. Only one thing can be sure, Time we cannot halt.
Where does the time fly to? Where has it gone? Seconds in soldier form, Time marches on.