[Mike Wrecka]

time is literally, just a measurement,
a break down of infinity, into smaller increments/
a broken instrument, controlling our life,
though cloaked in innocence, its a demons device/
got you leavin contrite, like sorry but im late,
got you seekin advice, askin whats todays date/
but it stays the same shape, intertwined figure eights,
we share pre ordained fate, so we all can relate/
to the past present and future, navigate and maneuver,
through the time continuum, triangulate in Bermuda/
using the teachings of Buddha, say hakuda matata,
while the doomsday preppers form an armada/
absorbing allotta, negative stress,
swarming piranhas, take a sedative, rest/
even former presidents press, the hurry up motto,
how do you get to rush more, always full throttle/
if patience is a virtue, then were virtually corrupt,
someplaces have a curfew, so the day ends abrupt/
enough is enough, where do we draw the line,
assignments have a due date, as soon as theyre assigned/
in the land before time, people always had the time,
to do what they pleased, at ease, without a deadline/
lets rewind, just sit back and relax,
recline, and then take a nap in the grass/
whether moving backwards or fast,
everything comes to a point like the forehead of a Dracula mask/
in a spectacular crash, things started out with a bang,
and they will end in a similar fashion so try to refrain/
from not taking the time, to contemplate and elicit,
life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop to look around you might miss it/