When I was eighty-seven
they took me from my coffin
The found a flannel nightshir for me
to travel off in
All innocent and toothless,
I used to lie in bed
Still trailing clouds of glory
from the time when I was dead
The cruel age of sixty-five
put paid to my enjoyment
I had to wear a bowler hat
and go to my employment
But at the age of sixty
I found I had a wife
And that explains the children
(I had wondered all my life)
I kept on growing younger,
and randier and stronger
Till at the age of twenty-one
I had a wife no longer
With mini-skirted milkmaids
I frolicked in the clover
A cuckoo kept on calling me
until my teens were over
Then algebra and cricket
and sausages a-cooking
And puffing at a cigarette
when teacher wasn't looking
The trees are getting taller,
the streets are getting wider
My mother is the world to me,
and soon I'll be inside her
And now it is too early,
there's nothing I can see.
Before the world, or after?
Wherever can I be?
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