|
The days of wine and roses are distant days for me
|
I dream of the last and the next affair and of little girls
|
I'll never see
|
|
And here I sit the retired writer in the sun
|
The retired writer in the sun, and I'm
|
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 I'm
|
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 I'm
|
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 I'm
|
Blue, the retired writer in the sun
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Writer In The Sun
|
| Donovan |
