The clock of life is wound but once
And no-one has the power
To say just when the hands will stop,
The year, the day, the hour.
To lose your wealth is bad enough,
To lose your health is more,
To lose your soul a tragedy
That no one can restore.
Today alone you call your own,
To do with as you will,
Don't count upon tomorrow friends,
The hands may then be still.