My poor back is aching, my feet they are sore,
My eyesight is weak and my teeth are no more.
When I look in the mirror in horror I gaze,
But I shouldn’t be shocked; it’s just my old age.
My head of black hair is now a lost cause,
A queer mixture of grey but it’s mostly bald.
My face once quite handsome now looks a wreck
All pitted and lined like the contours of earth.
My hearing is poor, many words I can’t hear,
The arthritis has almost locked-up my knee.
I have two hip replacements and a new hearing aid.
Bifocals and dentures, they help my old age.
My steps they are slow though quick my heart rate,
My blood pressure soars; my cholesterol is eight.
Sometimes I worry the old ticker might fade,
My doctor he tells me that it’s just my age.
Cut out the coffee the tea and the beer,
Don’t take any sugar and salt you must fear.
Don’t smoke tobacco; your lifestyle should change,
And maybe you’ll live to enjoy your old age.
So I think to myself, if I can’t have a vice,
Will I live any longer, will I have a great life.
I can’t change the past and the futures’ a haze
So use it or lose it; have a happy old age.
Sometime in the future the curtain will fall,
The Good Lord will ask me to answer the call.
When the ledger is checked it’s then I will know,
If He calls me to go up or I’m kicked down below.