This is the collaborative journal of W.C. Chambers and J.R. Bowman. Read. Wonder. Reply. Thanks for stopping by.
Monday, November 28, 2005,10:05 PM
Oh, to be OLD
Oh to be old and not still young
If I were old I could sit and stare off my porch
Without the bothers of anyone asking me why
I could cry for any reason that I wish
My families youth would call me “sensitive”
I could do as I pleased without any question
Walk bare foot
Sit in my chair NUDE late at night
Scare my grand kids
Wish I had grand kids
I know why I’d spoil my grand kids
To keep myself out of harms way
Only thing worse then your own kid on your ass
Is your kids, kid
Oh to be old and stubborn
As opposed to young and willing
They would say that I was simply “set in my ways”
That I was an old dog who just refused to learn new tricks
I wouldn’t have to worry about death
or when it was that I was going to meet my END
Death would be my unknown brother in old age
My long lost friend
He would sit quietly with me on that porch staring,
waiting, watching.
Both of us knowing what the other is thinking
“Whose gonna be next?”
Death and I would make jokes about life and living
To be old and horny
Now that would be torture
To be old and lazy, well that’s to be expected
To be old and single
No worries, it would be a familiar friend from an early youth
To be old with Lunacy
Now that’s just the ability to really live
It’s the only thing that breaks the shackles of this reality
To be old
To teach the young
And have them shun my wisdom
Now that would be irony
To be young and long to be old
THAT is true irony
When I’m old
I’ll finally be like a cat
I’ll sleep all day and “need” all night
Now I must stop before this tale itself becomes old in the telling.
If I were old I could sit and stare off my porch
Without the bothers of anyone asking me why
I could cry for any reason that I wish
My families youth would call me “sensitive”
I could do as I pleased without any question
Walk bare foot
Sit in my chair NUDE late at night
Scare my grand kids
Wish I had grand kids
I know why I’d spoil my grand kids
To keep myself out of harms way
Only thing worse then your own kid on your ass
Is your kids, kid
Oh to be old and stubborn
As opposed to young and willing
They would say that I was simply “set in my ways”
That I was an old dog who just refused to learn new tricks
I wouldn’t have to worry about death
or when it was that I was going to meet my END
Death would be my unknown brother in old age
My long lost friend
He would sit quietly with me on that porch staring,
waiting, watching.
Both of us knowing what the other is thinking
“Whose gonna be next?”
Death and I would make jokes about life and living
To be old and horny
Now that would be torture
To be old and lazy, well that’s to be expected
To be old and single
No worries, it would be a familiar friend from an early youth
To be old with Lunacy
Now that’s just the ability to really live
It’s the only thing that breaks the shackles of this reality
To be old
To teach the young
And have them shun my wisdom
Now that would be irony
To be young and long to be old
THAT is true irony
When I’m old
I’ll finally be like a cat
I’ll sleep all day and “need” all night
Now I must stop before this tale itself becomes old in the telling.
