Hanging in there and holding on to retirement has us in our old age walk and lope around through out the suburban setting Aged limbs for our quaint wins tell us to range with the king, our trophies and rings are clear, hope leads have no fear, on the land so bon and planned with our calm hands we do have the morn's cold whims, our forms hold links of health which rule and sing, our belts and fists of kilojoules are things, psalms are blue, wands become through and dawn our qu