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My soul is tired tonight, Dear Lord, it surely must be old.
It seems to want to retire now, and return to the fold.
It was not very long ago my future seemd so new,
Time is so elusivive, the days ahead seem few.
And if I were to hoard my time, and frugally would save,
What could I do with al those hours, if I should meet my grave?
Could I save time for later? Hope for another life?
Or would I wast those minutes? Would hiding time be strife?
I shall not be a wastrel! I'll spend time prudently,
If I am my own banker, I'll die in poverty
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