Perfect. Beautiful. Wonderful. It's like you.

Thinking about the times

I know should have taken phtographs

Something to rely on,

sharper than a memori,

'Cause chemistry dictates them,

they're not coloured by emorion,

they're coloured by shades.

Of how things used to be.

And nothing breaks the heart

much more than looking at old photographs

hwhen you can taste the moment,

and worse still, if it's passed.

They're gone now to the future,

but you still can't deny them,

like a song that's sung,

Regret, is like a filter,

that colours all your endeavours

And once put on becomes a feature of your current works

What I fear,

is that all of these things I hold dear,

never become more than vibrations in air.

Vibrations in air.

Voices in the air,

they echo in my head like radios,

scratchy frequencies and static in between words

They're all on the wind now,

but I bet I never told you,

I missed you when you were gone.