In the days of the cave,

The man went out to hunt,
And when he had bagged his prey,
He then had time for art.
In the days of the little farm,
There were the seasons of rest,
And watching the cattle and sheep,
Surely was less stress,
And there was time for dreams.
Nowadays, you have to work every day,
And maybe get one day of rest,
But with the stress and the worry,
The countless other things to do,
There just isn't time for dreams and art.