I never expected that I would see
A single day past twenty-three.
The impetuosity of youth
Troubles me.
Yet, here I stand today.

How can one think,
In the tenderness of days,
When fulfillment comes quickly,
And commitment is tricky,
And a vision of age is rare,
That beyond today lies tomorrow,
And despite my joys and my sorrows,
I will one day arrive there.

They say that a cat has nine lives,
And the same is true of me.
I had used up five by thirty-three,
I knew it time to walk carefully,
And pathetically,
I soon gobbled up two more.

And so I stand at forty-seven,
Cautiously gazing askance at heaven,
Wondering if they gaze back.
And as the funeral procession rolls through,
And I am caught wondering what to do,
I scream:
"Hey, Mr. Mortician, I've still got two!"

And so in this day of diminishing returns,
And an account that's about to run dry,
I find myself barganing,
With the keeper of lives,
My broker in this grand scheme.
And as I address him respectfully,
And ask him for a loan,
He looks at me dejectedly,
And says,
"Sorry, buddy,
Two more and you're coming home."