Coming from Grampa, I closed the door.
Said: “He likes his privacy too;
I asked him what he thought about it
And he told me:

‘I’m going to live right on. Dying
Is none of my business. Dying
Will have to take care of its own self
After I’m dead.

I’ve had a life as good as I know
Don’t want to be a carcass for
Some white coated carrion crows
(Even before I’m dead)

Each one taking his peice, playing tag.
Don’t want to be all worn out like string clothes
No good
Even for rags

Don’t want some hopeless hope. Dying
Is what I will do, it’s my thing. Dying
Is not some technological process.’
Well.”