Saturday, August 09, 2008
When we are old, have lost our minds,
and too much history lurks behind,
the tea we share instead of gin,
and going out means staying in.
We'll laugh still, at our beige adventures,
and help each other find our dentures,
that fill our aging, sagging cheeks,
and the glasses, missing for weeks,
that lurk beneath your spreading ass,
lost in chintzy, cushioned gas.
You and I will face the end,
knowing that we had a friend,
who once danced naked in the rain,
when life was running down the drain.
So, we'll reminisce over spent seasons,
and piss our pants for other reasons,
because friendship stands when love falls down,
and red will still be our painted town,
but I bagsy that lacy dressing gown.