To shamble into the gray frontier at the end of life. Many people grow old and long to take that gentle exodus. They have become their own curator and no longer want the obligation of life.
If you don't feel this way, you can take prophylactic steps by consulting your nearest shaman. The most reliable of these live in baobab trees.
Note: I grow old, I grow old. I will wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
I want to die on a balcony overlooking a beach. I will be pushed out in a wheelchair, my head slowly bobbing to a halt. My hair will be cutting the wind, falling like a Chinese kite without air.
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