Old Age is an Indian
With gray hair
And a cane
In an old coat
Tapping along
The rainy street
To see the pretty oranges
And the stores
On his big day
When the dog's let out.
Somewhere in this snow
I see little children raped
By maniacal sex fiends
Eager to make a break
But the F B I
In the form of Ted
Stands waiting
Hand on gun
In the Paranoiac
Summer time
To come.