A clock without hands, a door without a key,
Stepping through the river of what used to be.
Breaking the chains of the ticking and chime,
To sail on the currents and tides of all time.
With a flash of the light and a tear in the sky,
Where the moments of history go galloping by.
To stand on the dust of a Pharoah's great throne,
Or walk in a city that's yet to be known.
To see the first fire in the cave-dweller's hand,
Or watch as the oceans reclaim all the land.
To whisper a warning to a ghost from the past,
Or see if the empires are destined to last.
But time is a fabric, both fragile and thin,
Where do we end and where we begin?
A paradox hidden in a shadow or spark,
A journey through light and a dive through the dark.
Though the gears of the cosmos may turn and may spin,
The present is always the place we are in.
For every tomorrow is a seed to be sown,
In the garden of time that we call our own.