(© Words and music by Paul F. Cowlan)
Memories, regrets, justifications. In L.P. Hartley's famous phrase. ĎThe past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.í
I donít suppose
we meant each other any harm.
We were both so young and hungry.
I was following the lines
the stars had drawn across my palm
to the life that lay beyond me.
So little choice.
You had to do the same.
We took it hard, but it was only
a change of key, another game.
What a shame to be so lonely.
Did you keep the picture?
Did you keep the broken stone?
Who rests their head now on your shoulder?
In spite of love
you have to live your life alone,
but you donít learn that till youíre older.
Moon after moon
has thrown her silver in the dark
since our final words were spoken.
A parting glance, an aching heart,
to mark where all the promises were broken.
Day by day
we leave our footsteps in the sand,
and every night the sea reclaims them.
Love and Hate still walk together,
always hand in hand,
and itís often hard to know
how you should name them.
With or without you
the world will carry on.
You take your chances
where you find them.
Some days bring you love,
some days bring you none,
and some are dead and gone,
but donít deny them.