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letra de 7. memories - antix

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easily the dust settles on our memories
like portraits painted in the thick strokes of time
the faces become blurred, the voices become like, whispers in the wind
details become obscurred by romantic reminisces, or painful recreminations
depending on what we remember
we try to wipe the dust
to blow fresh winds onto stalling memories but it’s
it’s not the same
with every wipe and every breath
a little of the original portrait floats away until eventually
all we have are blank canvases and dusty fingers
the faces of our past, the voices, are like ghosts in our mind
visible for a moment and then fading as we try to focus our eyes on them
one must die though to keep thy face fresh
to stop the dust from falling altogether
i cannot really her her voice anymore
her face is, just a dream now
but maybe my dreams are a better place to see her
at least there she is more than a memory, more than dust and ash
in dreams, time ticks to a different rythm
so the dust falls slow
and sometimes, not at all

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