I really don't like the idea of growing old.
Don't patronize me with the alternative.
You know squat about that.
There's the smell of bleach and ****,
And the lingering odor of soiling
Up and down the corridor.
There's the swish of mops,
And night comes early.
You say you'll visit, but when? You're busy with life.
I won't be seen at gatherings,
Perhaps a visitation for old friends.
The world should spin counter-clockwise
Before expelling me in its daily gyration.
I want a giant to hold me again,
And tell me I'm a good boy for eating,
For crapping in the toilet.
Soon enough, but you don't dare say so aloud.

I was up to my fingertips
Doing humanitarian shtick,
Visiting a nursing home
Where they're more dead
Than sick;
Playing and singing
And doing my licks
For those with clocks
Near the last tick.
They didn't mind
My performance was sick.

The woman occupying
The bed next door,
Would curse and swear
Like a Tudor *****:
Together we were
Rocking the floor.

Just then the P.A
Called Code Blue,
I played on through what ensued..
What was I to do?

Then we heard
Code Red, Code Red,
The one next door yelled,
****, I'm dead?

I heard her screech,
Code Pink, Code Pink!
I caught the refrain,
Played a chord,
The Tudor and I
Were in full accord.
What was I to think?

Code Brown, she bellowed,
Code Brown, she hollered,
Hitting the ground
Just near the toilet.

*Code Green,
Code Yellow,
Code White,
Code Black,
I'm the victim of a Rainbow attack.
**** it! ****! I'm gonna die!
Don't they know I'm colour blind.