I sit back in my favorite arm-chair,
At this moment, life seems so fair.
The football game is going on,
And still my favorite shows to come.
I'll spend the evening with my set,
Living life as good as it gets.
Free from all, I rule my life,
Slave to none, I have no wife.
Remote, ever a good Captain are you,
Steer me on a course that's true.
Bring us to old Channel Seven,
Ever as good as earthly heaven.
My stomach starts to growl at me,
So off I march to find some feed.
I walk across my lonely flat,
I pass the rack that holds one hat,
I pass the bedroom and stop for a second,
And think how no silver voice does beckon,
No delicate flower does my attention demand,
I feel no touch of silk-soft hands.
To the kitchen I pass, in lasting silence,
Not a bird will sing by my lonely islet.
By and by, I'm back in my chair,
Sure as the clock, the game's still there.
The pretzel I place between my teeth,
Seems now pale compared with roast beef.
And though the Bears are doing well,
I think, tonight, my heart is fell.
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