WRITER IN THE SUNDonovanThe days of wine and roses are distant days for meI dream of the last and the next affair and of little girlsI'll never seeAnd here I sit the retired writer in the sunThe retired writer in the sun, and I'mBlue, the retired writer in the sunTonight I trod in starlight. I excuse myself with a grinI ponder the moon in a silver spoon and the little one alivewithin.And here I sit the retired writer in the sunThe retired writer in the sun, and I'mBlue, the retired writer in the sunThe magazine girl poses on my glossy paper aeroplaneToo many years I spent in the city playing with Mister Lossand Gain.And here I sit the retired writer in the sunThe retired writer in the sun, and I'mBlue, the retired writer in the sunI bathe in the sun of the morning, lemon circles swim in theteaFishing for time with a wishing line and throwing it back inthe sea. CAnd here I sit the retired writer in the sunThe retired writer in the sun, and I'mBlue, the retired writer in the sunTranscribed by Stephen Sandersteve_sander@cacdsp.com------------------------------------Stephen
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