As my muscles wither away,
This much I have to say:
As sure as we liveth,
It's our youth that giveth
And our age that taketh away.
In old age your power dwindles
As your legs turn into spindles
And their muscles wither away
Despite the training you give to they
And the passion each race kindles.
Still, to be happy, you can decide.
In trying, you can still take pride.
Even so, Father Time is not your friend,
And you know that, in the end,
He cannot be denied.
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