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.
It’s farce and there’s nothing like it
So stupid, ‘gainst the grain
Don’t publicise – don’t mic it...
Darkness is tumbling from the flies
And fills the gloomy wings
Your backstage lover sits and sighs...
