In the blaze of youth, time slips through clenched fists,
a damn thief stealing seconds, minutes, and dreams.
We're running, always running, chasing after what?
Dreams gather dust while the world demands its dues.

Later years promised ease, a respite from the grind,
but what do we get? A pile of bills, aches, and regrets.
Chasing dreams? More like chasing our tails,
and the shadow of age, it's a relentless specter.

In the twilight, health unravels like a bad joke,
wounds once healed now scream with each step.
Life's supposed to be a damn celebration,
but instead, it's a battle against the body's rebellion.

Counting sunsets, days slipping through desperate fingers,
choices etched in the scars of what could have been.
Time, a sly bastard, steals the prime,
leaving behind echoes that scream, "not enough damn time."