Memory hurts – our hearts are stung
But sometimes I think the pain is for
Not a particular place but more
A special time – when we were young
For freer days when we knew hope
And what we felt we had was – scope.
I dreamed and dreamed my whole life through
Then I woke up and there was you.
Thought about a real good looker...
Strange summers, sometimes, heavily imbued
With music of uncertain pitch, have come
As we have laboured in the luxury...
