While standing on death's doorstep
with wrinkled breast and skin,
somewhere there's a girl in them
thinking I want in!
They're in wheelchairs, for gods sake,
they burp and fart and drool
someone wipes their ass for them
thinking she's a fool.
What respect must dying have?
Why bow we? Why shed tears?
Is it for them I give a damn
or am I waving at my fears?