The days of wine and roses are distant days for me. I dream of the last and the next affair and of 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 the starlight, I excused myself with a grin. I ponder the moon in a silver spoon and the little one `live within. And here I sit, the retired writer in the sun, 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 Mr. 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. 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.
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