Old Man Time is a rare old man
For a young man he'll ever remain.
With his long grey beard and his clothes so plain,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.
As one flower dies, the old man he cries,
The young man he plants the seeds again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

This old man has an hourglass,
For every soul on the land.
Oh, Old Man Time, I have seen mine,
It's the one with the fastest sand.
No sooner is it turned,
back through the glass it's churned,
I'm wishing I could have each hour again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

To me, Old Man, your time is rare.
Did God not give you all my sand?
Or maybe mine I had to share,
Or is there some left in your hand?
They tell me time is gold, well maybe it's been sold.
Or was it simply washed away in rain?
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

If I brought him a sack,
Do you think he'd put some back?
I know one day across my path he'll come,
But as for now, I can't say how,
I know the old man's work is far from done.
For, Old Man Time has just begun.