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.
All the pounding banks and pockets take
Slowly ceases to sound
We chuck the last uneaten Christmas cake...
I hurt my heart in hurting you
It goes both ways I guess
Two hearts are wounded but it’s true...