we grasp at every slender thread
    that dares to promise immortality
if the old man was like us, he would be
    the victim of our murderous duplexity
certain that an earlier yesterday holds
    the wonder of what we seek
yet when that day was here, it was scorned
    in favor of a newer, later week
we embodied the desires of today
    recklessly ignoring the tick-tock
but now, too late, we realize
    the most merciless of all is the clock