When I am in the December of my life
and my skin is tired and spotted from the sun –
and the infernal day star is sinking cautiously behind the hills –
and my eyes are fluttering and ready to close for the last and final time –

I don't know what I will have done with my life!
Everyone expects to live a righteous time on this earth
But maybe
Maybe I might let a few things slide.

I will wear pajamas outside even though they tell me not to
I will sleep all day and read all night, nocturnal
I will stay up forever and count the stars in the darkness
I will run as fast as I can with my arms outstretched

I will ride a luggage cart down the hotel hallways, screaming and laughing
I will kick down many doors like in those ludicrous action movies
I will drive a convertible with my seatbelt off, breaking the speed limit
I will throw a nice punch to someone who deserves it.

I will do something for a person who can never repay me
I will give a piece of my mind to anyone who challenges me
I will not mince words when I have something to say
I will question authority with impossible wit.

I will get a tattoo of something rude and rebellious on my forearm
I will chop all my hair off and let my scalp tingle in the wind
I will pick wreaths of flowers to wear onmy head like crowns
I will never count my pennies before buying books.

I will grow old in a corner apartment where the smells of smoke and asphalt dilute the city air
I will sit in an armchair with a cup of gray tea in my hand, sleeping more than I'm awake
I will listen to the tune of reckless traffic below, and remember my motorcycle days
I will hum under my breath the melody of a sweet song from my childhood.

This, I think, will be enough.