I can't remember anymore,
All of the things you told me,
Of all the great and wondrous dreams,
And all the lies you sold me,

Our little game of little things,
Back and forth and without end,
Was set for which in dying days,
To attack and then defend,

With each and every pinprick stab,
Awoke a ghost; cried shame,
To think of all and terrible fate,
A needled foot to lame,

So when the light shines very dim,
I know I'll catch a glimpse,
I can't remember all've said,
But I can't say I'm upset