The memories of a man
in his old age
Are the deeds of a man
in his prime
You suffle in gloom
in the sickroom
And talk to yourself
till you die
Life is a short warm moment
And death is a long cold rest
You get your chance to try
In the twinkling of an eye
Eighty years with luck
or even less
So all aboard
for the American tour
And maybe you'll make it
to the top
And mind how you go
I can tell you because I know
You may find
it hard to get off
You are the angel of death
And I am the dead man's son
And he died like a mole
in a fox hole
And everyone is still
in the run
And who is the master
of fox hounds
And who says
the hunt has begun
And who calls the tune
in the courtroom
And who beats the funeral drum
The memories of a man
in his old age
Are the deeds of a man
in his prime
You suffle in gloom
in the sickroom
And talk to yourself
till you die
