A whiff of a memory
A nugget, no more
Opens flood-gates of sorts
To the glorious days of yore
Tis an addiction my love
Of the very worst kind
The present’s a bastard
Crushed by your wandering mind
Like holding sand in your fist
Like caging warm sunshine
Like trying to preserve bubbles
Nostalgia’s a futile past-time
The past may well be a frog
Only Prince from remote
Yes, it offers a bitter sweetness
Of lost young dreams and old love-notes
Richness of a mirage-like past
Will paint a drab today and morrow
So beware of this craving, my loveliness
Tis the road to inexplicable sorrow
