My belly aches for precious food
my androgens are in the mood,
one foot already in the grave
the other one acts rather brave.
Each calendar does lie a bit
and one has placed me in the shit.
A silver lining in my hair
and shaped I am just like a pear.
So many early warning wrinkles
and endless, unproductive  tinkles,
some clerks now dare to call me dear
a wonder that I still can hear.
I see my cute optometrist
with glassy eyes, inside the mist
and when I pay for groceries
I reach and take the first green peace
out of the wallet, giving gladly,
my sight has sunk to 'rather badly',
it is my cottonpickin head
that wants to keep from being dead.
I pay the charlatan  and quack
to feed me pills and fix my back.
While longing for longevity
I do forget that one small key
has been created for my soul
when God designed it to a role.
But, never one to listen much
I aim to commandeer a touch
of real immortality
all for a lousy service fee.
And when I'm down to my last coin
and angels beckon me to join
I'll have no choice and will not care
and, like a blinded forest hare
I do remain in place and freeze
then give the world a final sneeze.
I think the words above might say
it matters not what we can pay
and that we would be well advised
not to be cut or analysed.
There comes a time when your own number
unlocks the door to endless slumber.
So I shall keep my hard-earned cash
by now it is a hefty stash.
And take it to the Never-Never
a move that labels me as clever.
So, having been on earth a scrooge
the benefits shall be quite huge.
Make-over for the mind and bod
and pay the man, in this case, God.