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.