Expertly, the river flows
Eventually, it takes me home
The weeping willows upon the shore
Are memories of lovers gone
And I don't think these things are real
They might be hints of used to be
Like lovers lusting on the breeze
Or [bad word] burning out their knees
Waiting as themes are freed
From cages in a memory
I can say "ain't it silly"
For remembering what used to be