Fleeting Embers

The memories are warm in the eye of the storm
I remember the days long ago.
And the raindrops fall wet as the tears of regret
Dance through the air to and fro...
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

The colours and shades of the penny arcades
Flash through my mind on a whim.
And the mantra lives on, though the music is gone,
For the furore of then tends to dim.
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

Was I ever so young when my springtime had sprung?
Was I ever so short in the tooth?
Was I ever so tall ~ or really quite small
In the turbulent days of my youth?
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

Words fall on deaf ears as the sun disappears
And the twilight now smothers the bright
Do the things that I say become withered away
In the fading and ebb of the light?
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.

So, I lie in my bed with these thoughts in my head
And anamnesis visits my dreams.
I forget how it was long ago then because
Forever they're gone ~ so it seems.
And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.