Free Four

One two three four The memories of a man in his old age Are the deeds of a man in his prime You shuffle in gloom of the sickroom And talk to yourself as you die Life is a short, warm moment And death is a long cold rest You get your chance to try In the twinkling of an eye Eighty years with luck or even less So all aboard for the American tour And maybe you'll make it to the top And mind how you go and I can tell you 'cos I know you may find it hard to get off But you are the angel of death And I am the dead man's son He was buried like a mole in a fox hole And everyone is still in the run And who is the master of foxhounds And who says the hunt has begun And who calls the tune in the courtroom And who beats the funeral drum The memories of a man in his old age Are the deeds of a man in his prime You shuffle in gloom in the sickroom And talk to yourself as you die