Now, an awful lot of water has been led to the slaughter
Since she led me that merry dance.
And I never took a wife, for I wasted my whole life
Looking out for a letter from France.
Oh, Chantal, Chantal, sure I love you still
Like I did in the time that's gone
Although you're going on eighty four
And I'm tipping a hundred and one.

I've outlived all my mates, and I've lost all my slates
And I'm back in the oxygen tent.
And my ozone holes are scoring own goals
In my pitch-black firmament.
There's more tears in my eyes than stars in the skies
I've lost contact with my lenses.
Ah but I'm sure I could get through a dark night with you
And recover my soul and my senses

Regards