I spun it from the sunlight
And the Byron Bay waves.
I sang of my treasures,
My rapscallion knaves,
Now flown from my coop
To seek their own sun and waves
I retired to the bistro
Where I sighed a few sighs;
Where Irish Jack spoke
Of how teens weave their lives;
Where Jack and I poured
The consolation of chais
My children,
I hope you can hear this song,
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