Do you remember the days,
Where the thought of love,
Could make you ill?

How many more, are old souls?
The kind who dream more than they live.
The ones with nothing left to give,
Who've watched their past wash by,
Like sinking tides and rising skies.

But who are happy at the thought,
Who find comfort in the feeling,
Who yearn for those days again,
And get lost in the meaning.

The beauty in the flaws,
The words between the lines.
How staring into the distance can bring it all back.
How the rising sun did fade to black.

Because I remember.