See how he stands, his shoulders back
to compensate for belly,
his head slumped forward on his chest,
his legs as weak as jelly.
Now see him run, his gasping breath
and funny shambling gait,
oh middle-aged man, not fast enough,
that’s why you’re always late.
He’s tired, and now it’s time for bed.
Let’s watch him as he sleeps:
he stirs; he wakes at half past two,
and weeps, and weeps, and weeps.