When I will grow old,
have lots of time to think
and nothing else to do;
Then I will think about you.
I will sit on my rocking chair,
put aside my false teeth,
Sip a little whisky with lots of ice
and try to make sense of my life-
Sudden thunders and lightnings
would break my reverie.
I will slowly take another swig
put the glass on the side table
and resume to ponder about
your affair with me.
But I guess I will be too old
to remember every detail by then
So I will just shrug my shoulders
finish off my glass of whisky,
Open the windows to let the
fresh scent of rain fill the room
And read a book instead.