The days of wine and roses are distant days for me
I dream of the last and the next affair and of little girls
I뭠l never see
And here I sit the retired writer in the sun
The retired writer in the sun, and I뭢
Blue, the retired writer in the sun
Tonight I trod in starlight. I excuse myself with a grin
I ponder the moon in a silver spoon and the little one alive
within.
And here I sit the retired writer in the sun
The retired writer in the sun, and I뭢
Blue, the retired writer in the sun
The magazine girl poses on my glossy paper aeroplane
Too many years I spent in the city playing with Mister Loss
and Gain.
And here I sit the retired writer in the sun
The retired writer in the sun, and I뭢
Blue, the retired writer in the sun
I bathe in the sun of the morning, lemon circles swim in the
tea
Fishing for time with a wishing line and throwing it back in
the sea. C
And here I sit the retired writer in the sun
The retired writer in the sun, and I뭢
Blue, the retired writer in the sun