What a fickle master Old Father is,
Tick tock goes the clock,
Hours can feel like an eternity,
Whilst minutes can slip by like sand.
With the sceptres of the big & little hands,
He rules, he commands.
Rich, poor,
Those without and with power are subject to his rule,
By second, minute, hour,
To his dance across the sky,
Across the clock
Tick tock.