I thought my past would follow me,
For ever and a day,
I hated that thought,
But it was that way,
Then I met you,
Under the sun,
What was heard was unheard,
What was did was undone.
The words would run cold,
Around in my head,
What was thought was unthought,
What was said was unsaid.
But when I lie awake,
In my nice warm bed,
What was written can be unwritten,
But whats dead is stilldead.
