I guess folks think I’m mighty dumb
Since Jack and Jim and Joe
Have hit the trail to Kingdom Come
And left me here below:
Since Death, the bastard, bowled them out,
And left me faced with–Doubt.
My pals have all passed out on me
And I am by my lone;
Old Bill was last, and now I see
His name cut on a stone;
A marble slab, but not as fine
As I have picked for mine.
I nurse and curse rheumatic pain
As on the porch I sit;
With nothing special in my brain
I rock and smoke and spit:
When one is nearing to the end
One sorely needs a friend.
My Pals have gone,–in God’s good earth
I guess they’re packed up snug,
And since I have no guts for mirth
I zipper to my mug:
The question that I ponder on
Is–where the heck they’ve gone?