You tell me I am getting old.
I tell you that's not so!
The "house" I live in is worn out,
and that, of course, I know.
It's been in use a long, long while;
it's weathered many a gale;
I'm really not surprised you think
it's getting somewhat frail

My few short years can't make me old,
I feel I'm in my youth.
Eternity lies just ahead,
a life of joy and truth.
I'm going to live forever there;
life will go on - - it's grand!
You tell me I am getting old?
You just don't understand

The color's changing on the roof,
the windows getting dim,
The walls a bit transparent
and looking rather thin;
The foundation's not so steady
as once it used to be - -
My "house" is getting shaky,
but my "house" isn't me!

The dweller in my little "house"
is young and bright and gay;
Just starting on a life to last
throughout eternal day.
You see the outside, which is all
that most folks see.
You tell me I am getting old?
You've mixed my "house" with me!

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