Formula 521

Formula 521 keeps you from dying But it doesn’t keep you young There will still be aging And aching And watching still another one That you loved Passing   Your skin wrinkles and withers Your memory fades And your bones become porous You will disintegrate Into a rickety pile Of wheezing, rasping dust That sits alone Reeking of vapor-rub   And you become accident prone So that no one can stand the sight The smell Or the responsibility of you This lingering pile of something They once loved and knew And they pray for you to die And you try But only decay a little more And the stress upsets the delicate fabric Of your intestinal lining