I'm running on five percent,
A frame that is worn and bent,
Should I expect less?
Eighty years of excess.
A price worth paying for the bodies rent.

My brain says 100 percent,
It screams at me every day,
I do crosswords, read books,
Write poems and cook,
But my brain ain't my body, OK?

So my mind may be running just fine,
But my body lives under a cloud;
Muscles, they ache,
Joints scroop as I take
Hunched steps with my daddy's old cane.

There are some advantages though,
From out my way people do go:
"You alright old chap?,
Let me help you with that".
And a door is held opened, I'm slow.

Whenever I go life's been good,
In fact there's just one thing I miss.
I'll leave you to decide
When I had my last ride,
Still memories are five hundred percent.