Sixty-five, embalmed alive
But a vacation clinic stay
Will put the star back on his way
Six years old, pale and cold
Sheltered from solar radiation
In a constant state of rehabilitation
One day wed, soon from their wedding bed
Fifteen hundred feet would end
The life together they'd planned to spend
A ten-year sentence, an impotent penance
A murderer's due is suspended
A mercy his victims weren't extended
Another lucky octogenarian
Passes the angel garden
With whom will I lie?
With whom will I lie?
Somewhere out there my stone is waiting
Somewhere forces orchestrating
The way I will die
The way I will die
One hundred weeks spent in military fatigues
But a zippered plastic bag
Will clothe him on his journey back
Hippocrates disgraced, his sacred oath erased
When a couple's forced to choose
Between medicine and food
Six billion souls, the young and old
All waiting for the day
When they return from whence they came
From conception in the womb to internment in the tomb
On the day that you're set free
Only this you're guaranteed
Lying here in bed
I lay my hand across your head
And wonder who'll be the first to go
And who will be left alone
Another lucky octogenarian
Passes the angel garden
With whom will I lie?
With whom will I lie?
Somewhere out there my stone is waiting
Somewhere forces orchestrating
The way I will die
The way I will die
Everyday each step I measure
Under existential pressure
One day I will die
One day we all die
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