Time marches on and no one can halt the rush to the end.
Occasionally we are able to twist and turn our paths, a slight bend.
But at the end death ends the march and we fade and become a distant memory,
We become worn out like old sandpaper or a piece of cloth of emery.
And we become distorted and the facts stray from the truth,
What we knew changed as we aged and lost the foolishness of youth.
We thought we would do good and evil was not part of the equation,
But evil came in with whispers of seduction and persuasion.
A hundred years from now some one will look up his historical roots,
And I will be a footnote of the past like and old game of ladders and shutes.
What did I stand for, what did I accomplish in life,
What were my ups and what were my strifes?
In the end it does not matter, we are born, live and die in the blink of an eye,
Enjoy the run, laugh at life and try never to have a tear or a sigh.