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I shouldn't expect to be around when the "6.9" figure is reached. But, if I were not pushing daisies come 2030, I'll sing this song (with apologies to The Beatles, who will all be definitely dead by then):
When We're Six-Point-Nine
When we get older losing our hair,
Many years from now,
Will we recognise our Singapore?
Mee siam, prata, and yes! bak chor?
Trains won’t be empty, quarter to one
But that’s still okay
If you still need us, if you still feed us,
When we're six-point-nine.
oo oo oo oo oo oo oo oooo
Older we’ll be, true (ah ah ah ah ah)
And if you say the word,
Nursing home we’ll go.
So let’s be friends, and don’t blow a fuse
When the lights are out
Walk a mile in others’ shoes
Sunday mornings go for a ride
Doing Bay Gardens, Hey, chope that seat!
Who could ask for more?
If you still need us, if you still feed us,
When we're six-point-nine.
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