When whistlers stop scowling
Smokers stop sighing
Watchers stop looking
And women stop walking
When gray beards
Grow no more
And pain dont
Take you by surprise
And bedposts creak
In rhythm not at morn
And dry men's bones
Are not pushed
By angry meaning pelvic
Propelled legs of reason
To a place you hate,
Then I'll go lay my crown
Body on the heads of 3 men
Hurrying & laughing
In the wrong direction,
my Idol