ain't that something worth writing about

memory's a game we've got no choice but to play, holding onto moments momentarily our own and when we blink we tend to miss them and we miss them though we never had them in the first place. we can take a picture but the lens steals a bit for itself some part of the time in time we'll come to try and recall and we'll put our heads against the wall and ask to go back but to no avail because it's all a one way forward flow we've just got rear view mirrors and all's closer than it appears or maybe it's the other way around but it doesn't really matter, really. time escapes usor we escape time or however we choose to part time doesn't care, doesn't have a heart to be broken by anything or anyone, isn't that a lonely thing? smile through the tears, we do, it's good to feel a little. forgive me if i've run off course i must be in a real right state thinking i'm so eloquent when i stutter, i'm a little crazy but hell we're all a little out of control, control, that illusion we cling to in our ocean 'til it dissolves or evaporates and we drown, or, we trust the tides. who am i to write this all down? just a girl on a train playing the memory game.