To the left of the television
Beyond the gold and black rug
Across the couch in the living room
Lives a memory

Enclosed in a silver frame behind the glass
Sits a naive little boy playing with his new toy
In the arms of his father
Both gazing the same gaze

The flash was too bright
And the background is faded black
But the father and son are in perfect focus

They’re wearing grey sweaters
It’s cold, probably winter in the photo
The boy is resting on his father’s chest, loving him very much

In my living room
Behind the glass
Lives a memory