Every year, every month, every day
Is a handful of succulent scents.
When it's dim outside I don't pray,
I'm just trying to smell past events.
And the remnants of what seemed deceased
Start to flow into my rigid head.
Irreversibly done and dismissed, -
It returns, hardly wishing to fled.
It is fine, I don't mind that it stays,
But these memories mustn't go deep.
There are things, things I'd rather erase,
Cause no man ever should see me weep.
Sun is shining, and its every ray
Greets me warmly like never before.
Every year, every month, every day
Is a handful of scents I adore.