How many days do you want?

How many days do you want?

Do you need?

So many women, fighting off

Fat-faced, beer-bellied men

Who believe they were Marlon Brando

In another life.

Perhaps they were

But only after Apocalypse Now

What price fame?

Does blood get old?

Couped up in your body

Pickled

With all the other decrepit

Pipes and organs

Marinating

Into vinegar

Could you tell?

And not use it as a transfusion

For fear of premature ageing

In the recipient.

They say all cells die and are renewed

Except for brain cells

As if the stupidity of complacent

Wife-beating savages

Was a case of withering

On the vine

When they were always

Under the influence

Of self-inflicted

Restricted development.

Flesh of my flesh

Whatever that means

When the bone of my bones

Is hollowed-out

And used as a weapon

To represent the evolution

Of mankind

From a great ape

To a barbarous beast

And all we do

Is to walk on the dark side

Mind our business

Use an anti-ageing serum

On our skin

When the truth is

Whether we like it or not,

Everything but the cost of living

Will slide downhill

Eventually.