Ode To The Old Poem by Matt Schmitz

Are you live, or are you dead?
Skin is fissured,
Grey is head.

You can't walk
And you can't see,
Or function in society.

The world, alas, has passed you by
and all your leaders do is lie

You hate young thugs;
Their music's damned.
They all do drugs
and cash demand.

We kids are bad,
We're cruel to others.
We really truly hate our mothers.

But if when you turn sixty-five,
You are but still somewhat alive.
Until the reaper does arrive,
Upon my taxes you'll survive.