What is it that makes me go back To that place where moss grows And no one lives except the memory Etched deep in my brain of a sunset long ago When water tasted sweet and the Sun Was warm on my back and a young fresh girl Was in my arms and all we did was make love And talk and wonder what we would be doing when We were old and grey Came the day and it is difficult to see the Man that was the boy so much has disappeared How much of me is he and she is her and where In the time gone by did we lose ourselves and become What we are now. I'm curious.