Help! In my head I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
I can’t stretch, I can’t bend, oh where will it end? I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
My pace I revoke, my reflexes a joke. I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
And my feet they both hurt, my balance desert. I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
And I’d still like to chase women, but eyes they are dimming. I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
And my muscles I tear, what’s happened to my hair? I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
And I shake and I shiver, my wrists all a quiver and who’s that old fuck that I can see in the mirror? I’m still nineteen years old, so why am I stuck in this old man’s body?
Chancery Stone's Blog
Literary Parodies, Comic Verse and Whimsy by Max Scratchmann 
Hilarious, and oh, how I can relate! In fact, I did a brief poem on the same topic a while back: http://wp.me/p3sx1Q-hL . It threatens to become long-form, the way things are going!
Yes, they do tend to say, oh not another Max poem about sore feet over here….