The Bottle's In Your Hand

This is it This is the day it all changes It all just rearranges So it can all fit Into this oddly shaped mold In order For you to grow old The answers to all your questions lay in an old decoder You tell me you'd like to go in peace But please, you beg, don't put me in a box You don't want to be known as the dearly departed Because life's not supposed to end before it ever even got started Sitting there, spaced out, on a pile of ancient rocks Not much of a life for you to try and piece Together, well, whatever And so on, and son, forever and ever To help you remember The changes, that never Even took place Along with all the memories you've tried to replace You play dead You said Because you're living in fear Having to let go of all that you once held near & dear I hope it will come as no surprise You know, the news of your untimely demise Or would you prefer it to be called, the end of all your days to come If you must--just go Go right out the back door Because I know you've never wanted to leave more But, do you dare go?.......NO! You just stay the same with your hand permanently occupied by that bottle of rum