you won't know
me when I'm a memory,
a hot gust of air, that you can't see,
won't catch your tears. Some day

you'll call and not hear
my voice. Then you'll know
you made a choice. Some day
you'll play back all the things

you said inside your head. As the pain
bears an ugly stain of years wrapped up
in cellophane. Some day you'll stew
over how the days flew when you're old

and grey with less to do. But you can't
say a thing to me now, when I'm floating
high above the clouds.