Ages.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
And all the world can change
Princes leave their thrones
Actors leave the stage
Poets come and poets go thither
On the papyrus of life
Nothing remains but scratchings pressed on
From the previous page

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
What measure makes a man?
In forty seconds a life can change
Or a minute
Or sixteen hours
No more constant than the next four cards
No more predictable than a metronome

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure what it is worth?
In gold?
In talents?
What surety is left when love’s lost meaning?
What comes to fore when the writing’s on the wall?
Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin?

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
And all the world’s still a stage
Where actors come and go
And dramas and tragedies are all that’s playing
The comedies we’ve shoved away
As the sand dribbles away on silent wings
What is left is life