Iíve come to the conclusion that death stalks us all,
The young, the old, the short and the tall,
And if youíre lucky not to fit this description,
Youíll live forever without a prescription.
Weíve all got a date somewhere the distance,
When weíll die and time-out to end our existence.
Now Iím not comfortable with all this knowledge --
but weíre just passing through, you have to acknowledge.
Iíd like to go gently like that man in the song.
Lie down one afternoon at a hundred but strong,
And never open up my eyes again but thatís okay
Among family and friends, Iím just going away.
No lying in a box looking up at the ceiling
Through glasses that wont see and without any feeling,
Just close up the box and put me in the ground,
If itís an ice-cold day, just donít stick around
And my family and friends, all alive and awake,
Meet somewhere to sing as in an old Irish wake,
And talk about times and tell secrets and laugh,
And down a few drinks - a gallon and a half.
And long after Iím dead I hope that itís said,
There was a man who made some great soda bread,
He did almost everything at sometime throughout his life,
And eventually got it right with Marion as his wife.
He sailed the lakes in a Northern twenty-five,
From Oakville to Oak Orchard and arrived alive,
He made beer every summer in five-gallon jugs,
And drank it still cloudy from big pewter mugs.