You make me feel like a prepubescent,
Adolescent boy,
Wearing tight denim jeans,
And black shirts with funny catchphrases,
You make me feel like a three-year-old,
On Christmas morning,
A sailor on shore-leave,
Sporting new tattoos from my travels,
Or perhaps just a plush elmo toy,
You make me feel like I've wings to fly on,
A bed to die on,
And the kind of health to see I never die,
Like I'm almost certain,
When they close the curtain on my death bed,
That it's not the end.
