Marjorie needs a good cry, I thought

As I hid in the corner like the sinner I was

They paraded the dead in front of her,

a reminder of her age and status

(Faces of former loves undoubtedly

cracking the scabs of time)

The thing I fear most is age, not death

To be put on display in a blue-pants-suit

(a shaking slumping bag of bones, we'll)

Praise the Lord, 'cause Marjie's still alive

(If I ever shut down, it will be my own doing

not time's gentle drip-drip torture boring holes)