Free Four

One, two, free four

The memories of a man in his old age

Are the deeds of a man in his prime

You shuffle in the gloom of the sickroom

And talk to yourself as you die

And life is a short warm moment

And death is a long cold rest

You get your chance to try

In the twinkling of an eye

Eighty years with luck or even less

So all aboard for the american tour

And maybe you'll make it to the top

But mind how you go

I can tell you `cause I know

You may find it hard to get off

But you are the angel of death

And I am the dead man's son

He was buried like a mole in a foxhole

And everyone's still on the run

And who is the master of foxhounds

And who says the hunt has begun

Who calls the tune in the courtroom

And who beats the funeral drum

The memories of a man in his old age

Are the deeds of a man in his prime

Shuffle in the gloom of the sickroom

And talk to yourself as you die