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Today,
while we eat and sleep and play,
and we lie and we cry and we die, today.
When we row our boat,
or swim and float,
and gloat and gloat and gloat.
In the end it seems like it was all created today.

Today,
as the clock ticks seconds by,
and song birds take to wing and fly;
a man on his death bed doth lie.
When poets resort to Shakespearen lines,
when what's mine is yours and what's yours is mine,
then hath come the end of rhyme,
Today, failing that test of time.

Today,
Like babies born and old men dead,
like a woman worshipped for whats below her head.
Like gods of old and gods of new,
like fields of green and skies of blue.
There comes a time in life and death,
where one must cease to hold his breath.
On that day time stands still,
and the world is created by the power of the will.
Then in the end we keep today,
and all it seems was created that way.