Intro

Some say that when you come at last
to the hour of your demise,
it seems you see your whole life pass
right before your eyes.

Like pages in a picture book
flipping with the breeze,
photographs that someone took
collecting memories.

Raindrops in a sea of time,
the years are not that long.
Some stand pronounced like words that rhyme
to a line within a song.

So although a symphony
would certainly impress,
I feel that some philosophies
are best expressed with less.

Verse

It’s a simple song, it won’t take long,
it’s called the Minute Samba.
Sixty seconds all you need
to play the whole song through.

Like a wound up clock goin’ tick tick tock,
it keeps a steady time,
and if you don’t hold that final note
all you need is fifty nine.

But if you’re one to drag the beat
or cannot keep from racin’,
the seconds, they will fly right by
like somethin’ you were chasin’.

And when that final measure comes around
and the question takes the floor,
do you stop and take a rest
or play the song once more.