The past is dead. It’s dead alright.
It’s dead like deadness of the night.
The more I think of it the more
It chases me away in fright.

The past is dead… It comes alive
In fleeing dreams. A passing thought
Is what will silently survive
And turn on me no matter what.

The past is dead… Long live the past!
The fountain of love and youth.
I am your sails, you are my mast,
You live to torment and to sooth.