Il tempo passa, scorre inesorabile...buttarlo via è un delitto, non credi?
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines....
Time, Pink Floyd