The hour glassís sand filters through my hand,
I control all of time and where it might land.
The sands shifting upon my shoulders weighing me down,
Laying on the floor I look up hosting a frown.
I canít beat father time,
Iíll just spend the rest of time talking in rhyme.
People staring at me oddly,
As the sand covers the rest of my body.
I was to weak unable to stand,
Now I am a sand grain filtering through anotherís hand.