The Power of Memory

Nostalgia is a cruel mistress
once you have decided to give it up,
it comes right back to bite
Remember when we ran just to prove we could?
Remember the fake fights in the night?
Do you remember when we helped clean some girls house
for a couple packs of cigarettes?
Now all I think of is how I'll die.
If I'll go out a man or I will die of fright.
nobody knows unless God's real.
I'm sure the fickle bastard will work something out.
God, to see your face light up when we sing down the road,
freezing our asses off.
or when we make jokes no one thinks is funny.
I miss you, alright? I said it.