Don't talk to me about Valentine's Day. At my age an affair of the heart is a bypass
Don't talk to me about Valentine's Day. At my age an affair of the heart is a bypass
I'm going to be eighty soon, and I guess the one thing that puzzles me most is how quick it got here
For him in vain the envious seasons roll, Who bears eternal summer in his soul.
Will you still need me,will you still feed me When I'm sixty four?