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.
There is a lady I hold dear
So much in my heart she stars
Angel’s eyes survey me clear...
You say back to me, at the window,
Fruitlessly breathing out the fag
Whose smoke blew back into the room...
