'and it's always time'

How can you tell it was but a short time? How can you ever tell what it meant for someone else?
Time itself that we found out to say, tomorrow's another day, happy new year, and oops I got old, is all so meaningless, so incompetent.

All you ever feel is going on in there, inside you, and everyone else. It lasts exactly an eternity, every nanosecond of it, whether you're in heaven or hell. You can try and pretend that you can fool those feelings, but then you're only fooling yourself. It's a living hell or heaven all the time.