The world’s a chore when you’re sixty four No sign of respite The clocks go backwards every night Telling you you’re eighty five
Then suddenly The charcoal smog that has absorbed you slowly And blackened your kaleidoscope Has ****** you some place shy of midnight
Breakfast was a trench at best When only bed makes sense A world dragging me to war with myself
Time, having deprived you, will make you into a grinch Make you selfish and resentful
My sight was failing me But I remember him clearly Stood on the balcony Dangling his car keys at me across the moat Swinging from the chandelier As I gasped for a hearse in despair
The moat was old Every paddle a javelin The two minute journeys that turn your legs to waste Summer on a respirator Winter on a drip
Heavy going being sixty four When your scarcely twenty four And the clocks are moving forward
I’ll remember you When the time eventually comes How I locked you up Kept you an embryo