And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin sandles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.