I’m older if not wiser
Can’t *** like a geyser
And I think I can hear the bells toll.

They’re a little less distant
And a bit more insistent
And no longer seem quite as droll.

Out the corner of my eye
I think to espy
A dark figure with malevolent intent.

A voice with a tone
Like the scraping of bone
that leaves me whining and spent.

Is it getting closer?
Is it there in the toaster?
I worry perhaps more than I should.

But I’d be lying
There is no denying
I wish now that I’d done more good.