Time

Time don't come like no thief in the night,
Ain’t no shadow, ain’t no sharp knife.
It walks right in through your front door,
Sips your coffee and consumes you slowly.

It don't steal, it just... rearranges,
Turns your fire into quiet changes.
Leaves your youth like smoke on the air,
And your dreams in a half broke chair.

It ain’t death that robs you first; it’s time.
It writes goodbye in every wrinkle, every line.
You blink, and the world’s already moved on,
Your “someday soon” is dead and gone.

You watch your chances crack like old paint,
A little more each day.
You say “maybe next time,” like a prayer,
Till there ain't no next, just regrets.

Time don’t run; it waits and watches,
Takes your strength, then your name.
One gray hair, then ten, then all,
'Till you're just a shadow in the world.

No, it ain’t death that robs you first; it’s time.
It drinks your youth like warm red wine.
Leaves you “what ifs” like shards of glass,
Cutting deep when you think of the past.

So pour me a memory, aged and neat,
Let it burn like the years beneath my feet.
Here's to the chances I let slip by,
And the voice in my throat too tired to cry.

No, time don’t steal like some shadowed ghost;
It just stays for dinner and becomes the host.
Takes all you are, sip by sip.
The hands of time don’t steal...
They strip.