At first the sands flow smoothly,
They go passing by,
You innocent young devil,
Knowing not how lucky you are to thrive,
Soon you will grow older and begin to whine,
The sands will stop passing by so smoothly,
They will whip about and bite,
for as you have grown older,
Developing the idea how to fight,
The struggles gotten stronger as you push back against the wind,
Soon the hourglass will break and the sands will be released,
Scattered across oblivion no one will remember how they were pleased.