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High Road (Tennis)

Up to this creek they come to meet Where they done days by the summer heat The sun is always in their eyes They hold their glasses like they'd rise On a clouded fair and gin they dine They're always losing track of time All sloppy men grow paradise They import everything that's nice Comfort is all what really heard Beaches are transient, they look Lover, too many to quote But better times they never show By now the dreams have all been dreamt All of the money has been spent The crashing surf upon the ground They know I never hear this sound Our life of middling at best Put that pro-touch-up to a rest Was either choice, they do not know That better times they never showed Paradise is all around But happiness is never found Paradise is all around But happiness is never found