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The meGmories of a man in his oldC age are the deDeds of a man in his prGime.
You shuffle in gloom in the Csickroom and Dtalk to yourself till you Gdie.
Life is a short, warm Cmoment and Ddeath is a long cold Grest.
You get your chance to try in the Ctwinkling of an eye:
DEighty years, with luck, or even Gless.
So all aboard for the ACmerican tour, and Dmaybe you'll make it to the Gtop.
And mind how you go, and I can Ctell you, 'cause I know.
You Dmay find it hard to get Goff.
BBsus4BGABBsus4BGAG
GYou are the angel of Cdeath and DI am the dead man's Gson.
And he was buried like a mole in a Cfox hole.
And Deveryone is still on the Grun.
And who is the master of Cfox hounds?
And Dwho says the hunt has begGun?
And who calls the tune in the coCurtroom?
And Dwho beats the funeral Gdrum?
The memories of a man in his oCld age are the Ddeeds of a man in his Gprime.
You shuffle in gloom in the Csickroom and Dtalk to yourself till you Gdie.
BBsus4BGABBsus4BGAG
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