As the days
Get colder
And the years
Go marching on
I feel the joy
Of growing older
Is nothing short
Of a con
"All my life's buried here, heap earth upon it"
As the days
Get colder
And the years
Go marching on
I feel the joy
Of growing older
Is nothing short
Of a con
Come sit in the comfy chair
And I’ll tell you why you’re ill
We’ve got all night
To spend speaking shite
When your insurance is footing the bill