Donovan

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