A winter wind is blowing
And my heart is growing cold
I was once born young
Now I’m sick and feeling old
The hands on the analog clock
Are counting down my time
I can hear the ticking
As I write another rhyme
I know the reaper’s waiting
Just outside my door
If my legs and free will fail
He’ll find me on the floor
But while I have energy
I’ll outrun his bony touch
Surviving without thriving
Will have to be enough
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