There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by, And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie. My hair's getting thinner, my body is not; The few teeth I have are beginning to rot. I smell of Ben-Gay, not Chanel # 5; My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive. When asked of my past, every detail I'll know, But what was I doing 10 minutes ago? Well, you get the idea, what more can I say? I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day; If my names not there, I'll once again start - Perfecting the art of falling apart