It twists and turns yet goes straight on
It ebbs and flows like a stream long gone
It can't be stopped, nor dam be built
It's pieced together like an old cloth quilt
But smoother than silk with more sheen that glass
Far more intangible, unseen with no mass
We know it exists, we feel it near stop
We feel it fly by, or bubble 'til it pops
We feel it used up with each second ticked by
Until the final second on the day we die.

--Sparks