Like the sun setting through the trees,
These streets give rise to memories.
The night rising in the strip joints and bars
The lights flash on old fashioned bulbs
And red neons point arrows and outlines of naked women.
All you need to do is go into a dark doorway and down some stairs
And you’ll find yourself in a den.
I remember as a boy
Walking the same city streets and seeing the same neon lights.
Everything seems dirtier and worn down now.
Crossing the road into the park
I see the paths that twist by the pond
And the bench where we would sit and talk about the things that mattered,
None of those things matter now.
It was years ago; nothing seems as serious to me now
As it did when I was 17.
The wind whips the dust in the street
And memories whip in…
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boofey2010 