Who owns the time
Who owns the time, the tenuous time, the time that defines every day
The time that puts limits on all that we do, the time that is rushing away
Who owns the time in the morning, when it wakes us to start a new day
The time that slips into the distance, when sleep carries our senses away
Who owns time, that in less than a life, turns newborns to wizened old men
Then casts them aside in a measure of dust, after three score years and ten
Who told the time when to start, who will hold it in check to atone
No, the the time is a servant of no one, and time always travels alone
But where did time come from, no one can say, and who can reveal where it's gone
For who could compete with it's tireless pace, time can be equalled by none
Alas, no one is master of time, no riches could buy but one day
It cares nothing for poor men, rich men or slaves, as it passes us all, on its way.
