We take this boat of life
to God-knows-where
leaving not a trace behind,
forgetting takes forever,
in rain or storm or sunny weather,
even our oldest, our best-loved dreams, 
disappear like clouds
on a sunny May day; 
memories of what we did not do,
or what did, and wish we hadn’t, 
pass amongst us like a virus
nobody is immune to regret
like the refrain from an old song 
we once loved and didn’t know why
we rise again
before being completely embroiled 
in being young and thinking ourselves so wise
and yet really being just self-deceived,
a trait we will carry, clanking like chains,
throughout our next attempt 
to get something fucking right. 

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