When I'm Sixty-Four
Lennon/McCartney

When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me,
will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

You'll be older too,
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.

I could be handy mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride.

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

Every summer we can rent a cottage
In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera, Chuck, and Dave

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.

Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

Well, not for another twenty-something years will I be singing that song. But whenever February comes around, it makes me think of reaching that old age when my hair starts to thin, my teeth begin to rot, my bones aching due to cold, and my bedside table begins to look like a mini-pharmacy because of the many medicines I had to take -- for my cholesterol, for my heart, for my bones, for my skin, for my everything.

This February I'd be 41. It's funny: already my hair line's receding, my bones aching and I'm already taking medicines for my cholesterol. And I'm not yet 64!

I guess it really is downhill from here. I might as well enjoy the ride.