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They hurt, my hands, my knees, my feet
my back hurts too, little relief.
Sometimes it’s dull, other times stabs,
some back relief if work my abs.
It’s not a joke, though try to laugh,
I won’t take drugs whose help don’t last.
It ain’t that I like suffering
it’s just the toll comes with aging.

Hands are twisted, my feet are too,
knees so knobby gives me the blues.
This aging game is ancient one
it comes with time but it ain’t fun.
I never did expect to be
same at sixty as at thirty
but oh my gosh these five years past
have come with bill for life’s trespass.

I have a neck but it don’t turn
and the worst part’s how slow I learn.
My lines in plays? What? Memorize!?
Must work so hard to win that prize.
Don’t get me wrong, life’s not so rough,
I’ve loving spouse, coffee in cup
and all my needs provided for
just miss the me from age two-score.

There’s so many who’ve got it worse
whose daily lives seem truly cursed
those who under constant of pain
face agony as sweat and strain.
And here am I, air-conditioned
with central-air when sweltering
and warmth that blows sweet furnace heat,
know got it made, I do repeat.

There’s not a single day of week
when I feel grand or naught but weak,
but what else is this man to do?
Throw in the towel? I don’t think so.
I will keep on with keeping on
try not to wince as face the dawn
as stumble from my comfy bed
and feel the stabs from toes to head.

Hands are twisted, my feet are too,
knees so knobby gives me the blues.
This aging game is ancient one
it comes with time but it ain’t fun.
They hurt, my hands, my knees, my feet
my back hurts too, little relief.
Sometimes it’s dull, other times stabs,
some back relief if work my abs.