We all know our birth date,
but when will we go to St. Peter’s gate?
So I often think and wonder,
when I’ll be six feet under.
What if we knew our fate,
and we knew our expiry date.
We all know that death is certain,
and that could be hurtin’.
My expiry date I don’t want to be told,
’cause I want to live to be old.
Maybe I could ask for an extension,
but to whom should I mention?
So I guess I’ll have to wait,
for my inevitable expiry date.
But I would kind of hate,
to be called, “The Late”.
My expiry date I don’t want to know,
because I’m not ready to go.
I like to be six feet above ground,
certainly not six feet down.
I hope my days are extended long,
’cause underground I don’t belong.
Only our higher power,
knows our day and hour.