If we lived in a mud house In, say, Arizona Miles from the nearest dirt road, Life would be sweet As a mess of mesquite In our little adobe abode. If we lived in an igloo In upper Alaska, 99 miles north of Nome, We could get by On Eskimo Pie In our cute little dome of a home. If we live to a hundred And twenty, or thirty, With Alzheimer's firmly set in, Each day, for the first time, We'll see one another, And re-fall in love once again.