The silver fox will I become
Now that I am no longer young?
And so my hair must soon change,
While I hope that it shall not look strange.

It happens to us as we do get old,
As if by magic we become controlled.
I hope that I may still look smart
When those relentless changes start.

So to my brown hair I'll say goodbye,
But I'll not weep and I'll not cry.
And as I can't turn back those fateful clocks
I must agree to be that silver fox.