The memory museum

Torn between
Trying to out run the past
With its habit of having the last laugh
And the things
I’ve no wish to forget
Which leave a need that can’t be met
Being present is so hard
When more and more
Our memories are what we are
 
Feeling lost
And knowing I won’t be found
The bittersweet taste of old ground
It’s always here
Yet the past is always gone
And I’m nearly always on the run
On the run
 
Nothing’s gained
By dwelling on what did not last
But it’s so easy to fall for temptation
And the spirit may
Seem to roam so wild and free
But it’s a freedom seen from a prison
Looking back on what’s been and gone
Despite your reflection
You feel no different to that person
 
Feeling lost
And knowing I won’t be found
The bittersweet taste of old ground
It’s always here
Yet the past is always gone
And I’m nearly always on the run
On the run
 
It’s always here
Yet the past is always gone
And I’m nearly always on the run
On the run
 
In the end
Don’t you have to tell yourself
How there’s nothing for you there?
In the end
Shouldn’t you at least try to
Only ever look ahead?
Look ahead