For My Part, Getting Up Seems Not

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?

He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up The Wrong Way, Tormenting Himself With His Prickles.

The Year's In Wane; There Is Nothing Adorning; The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; Cold Winter Gives Warning!

Bells Are Musics Laughter.

For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And Yet Religion Have No Inward Seat