Dreams, Scars, Memories

Cemetary Winds blow colder


I'm afraid it's too late for regret
This time, per chance, we have said too much
Or not enough, or nothing at all

This time it's too late to curse at scars
And see the yellow bellies of yesterday
As fresh thoughts or new ideas

For how can I speak to a name...
A name written on a stone in a yard
And expect some sort of logical response
From the face reading "1979-2007"

How can I laugh at memories we were planning
And never got to live?