Now they want us to work till we're seventy

I know there's a pensions crisis. I know we're all living longer and it has to be paid for. But the suggestion we should work till we're seventy got me thinking:

WORK TILL YOU'RE PUSHING UP DAISIES

Work till you're pushing up daisies,

Till the blood in your veins has run cold;

Till you've gone to - whatever the phrase is - 

To the madhouse that takes in the old.

Work till your eyes fill with cataracts,

Till arthritis has eaten your knees,

Till you're ruled by your urinary tract and

You never know where you last left your keys.

Work on till you hear the Grim Reaper

Ring nervously on your doorbell;

Tread gently, don't welcome that creeper

For he's after your pension as well.

Take work from the young and the healthy,

Leave them lounging around on the dole;

Know that you can be smug and be wealthy

While they can only grow old.