Brittle Bones
I’m a walkin’ pile of creaky brittle bones
They screech and scratch in many different tones
I can’t even think of sex
Without my Celebrex
I’m a walkin’ pile of creaky brittle bones.
I used to be a finely tuned machine
The likes of which the world has never seen
When I walked by the girls would sigh
And blow me kisses – my oh my
And that’s when I was only seventeen.
Yes I used to be a hunk ‘a burnin’ love
And under many summer starry skies above
I’d make music ‘neath the moon
To the strains of Clair de Lune
While the ladies cooed just like a turtle dove.
Now time has worked its tragic wrath on me
It’s undone all the handiwork that used to be
Now I need a can of spackling
To patch up all the cracking
Before they have to come and bury me.
I’ll end this tale before Fate ends my life
And I mean this without rancor pain or strife
When your bones begin to snap
Be careful where you take a nap
A tombstone is no launching pad for life.
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laughing matters & wishbones
Vickie
Anna
Ron
Cheers,
Dan
I thank God I've lived as long as I have. Sometimes I think each day will be my last with all my aches and pains but I wake up to another day.
Blessings,
Linda+