This is an ode to a boyhood I wish not to remember
But it can't be put out like a cigarette's embers
Yet it burned my skin tender
I hope to mail it off in letters, no return address for sender

If only to be washed away by a April rain
Down the streets of my youth into old and forgotten storm drains
But the recollection remain, in the banks of my mind forever stained

The levies will break and the ground to mud
As the river floods
The current warm like our blood
We will say what has time done to us