Art of Falling Apart
There’s quite an art to falling apart as the years go by, And life doesn’t begin at 40. That’s a big fat lie. My hair’s getting thinner, my body is not; The few teeth I have are beginning to rot. I smell of Vick’s-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel #5; My new pacemaker’s all that keeps me alive. When asked of my past, every detail I’ll know, But what was I doing 10 minutes ago? Well, you get the idea, what more can…
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