I sometimes sit and look at them
And think of what they've done.
Ranging from some high-class work,
To merely scratch my bum.
They looked so nice when they were new,
But as the years went by,
The slow deterioration
Was enough to make me cry.
There's botex for the wrinkles
And there's corsets for the tum.
But my hands will always show,
How many miles I've done.