By Original Work
My wife %s aunt fanny,
We slipped on ice on a spree,
With what a fix in our hearts,
And till next time folks.
Through fields of gold we roam,
Where voices softly call,
The memory finds a home,
And bright shines through all.
Let hope fill the air,
And joy fill our souls,
For years beyond compare,
And memories that never grow old.
So slipped on ice and sing, friends,
With what a fix filling each day,
Till songs guide us home again,
And we find our rest for aye.
CC0 License
This song is released under CC0 (Public Domain Dedication). You may use it for any purpose, including commercially.