As the man makes a stool for the cellar-man,
As the tide erodes a cliff,
As footsteps are lost on a sandy beach,
With dewdrops on gossamer webs.
As sand runs through an hourglass,
And youth takes the bitter with the sweet,
With a promise of love and stolen days,
But it's all a trick not a treat.
Time is killing them slowly,
The days have not lingered on,
Old age takes the bitter with the sour,
No grains are left, the hour gone,
The dews dried up, the webs are dashed,
The wind reveals fossil prints,
The cliff has gone and left not a hint,
The stools in the bar, but the cellar-man ain't........
