Sometimes it's hard to remember what things
are all about
The story of that old Lorax, the wild things, the
goodnight moon
God it's a struggle to search through
the past,
like finding a soft pair of hands in fog,
even for things that once meant the world and a
wonderful head full of dreams
I can make such a mess of a
memory by trying to fix it all nice
like I'm trimming hedges
Or sewing up an open wound--
plastic surgery.