And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way by you’re older.
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter. Never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines.
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way…
excerpt from Time by Pink Floyd
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