Tennis High Road

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At two fish creek they come to meet
Weathered and edged by the summer heat
The sun is always in their eyes
They hold their glasses like a prize.

On a clouded fair and gin they dine
They're always losing track of time
A swampy mangrove paradise
They import everything that's nice.

Comfort is a word rarely heard
Wages are transient they look
For opportunity to grow
The better times they never show.

By now their dreams have all been dreamt
All of their money has been spent
The crashing surf upon the ground
And no one ever hears a sound.

A life of middling at best
Put that pro-touch-up to a rest
Was it a choice they do not know
The better times they never show.

Paradise is all around
But happiness is never found.
[X2]