Youre Gonna Need Somebody on Your Bond
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.
We recommend: Horror-Teria
Trams pass me out on St. Kilda Road,
Drizzle wet and slow, like thinking,
Oh oh, take me down into Young and Jacksons
We'll do a bit of serious drinking.
Lean on bar, hands in the pockets,
Drain those glasses down like rockets.
Call this history? But what could we ever really know,
Of you?
In your Roaring Days,
In your Roaring Days,
In your Roaring Days,
What could we ever really know?
In your hard day the world was oh, so very wide
Poets were people still..
And though I'm young, I am so, oh so very tired
Couldn't count the tears I have