As I’ve grown up, getting old, being told I’m getting old, it seems to me I’m losing sleep, losing teeth, weak at the knees. You say you want to help me, say you want to save my aching soul, save me from responsibility. I can’t relax, can’t find hope, rope, or time alone to see. Even now, every balustrade is an opportunity. You say you want to help me, say you want to save my aching soul, save me from responsibility. No! No! No! I want to go there – get myself to Switzerland. The railings of virgin territory in some Sunday magazine. They say they want to save me, send me out a guide in three months time, wait until I’m sure I’m sure I’m sure. Yes! Yes! Yes! I want to go there – get myself to Switzerland.