I look at my hair it's parting like the red sea,the mirror in the morning is playing tricks on me ,
My legs have varicose veins on my legs looking like railway tracks,
When I move I creak and groan I need oiling ,
My memory is like a goldfish put on repeat,
The Doctor gives me more pills I am convinced that I rattle when I walk,
People say poor old soul,I only coming up to sixty you know,
I not quite dead yet but I overwhelming get bothered by those infernal life assurance aids,
I have no desire to go to the great beyond yet,
If I do just a simple funeral for me,no wake just get some fish and chips,.
It's time to finish this ode with a quote from a friend, yes old age is shit.
