Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day; you fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.–Pink Floyd, 1973.
Time marches on, waits for no man, and is the fire in which we burn. Yes, other than love, nothing seems to bring out the poet in us quite like the passing of the hour. But what is it, really? While you consider such a timely question, have a look at this website to give you some perspective. To paraphrase Bert Einstein, it’s all relative.