This Place
Like an outstretched hand, beckoning with promises of the past
The memories call to me, fleeting glimpses of faded times.
I long to be there. When I walked, ran, sang for joy
I long to be there. When I walked, ran, sang for joy
I see the curly blonde hair on my daughters round face as she bounces and hops
The grass tickling my ear while we play on the long grass
Yes yesterday you seducer. You cannot be what you promise
Your promises are spent currency
Memories are not places, memories are not promises
I will stay in my sadness. My reality is a place
This place is where I am
