Sometimes, memories come to me,
From far back 1963.
When over the radio waves,
On the wings of music,
With melodies bright,
That came in the night,
And brought me delight,
With my eyes shut tight.
Though there was no hint of light,
To my ears, it seemed right,
That music should guide my sight.
But those melodies with wings,
Can only come from the past,
Where there is no present,
Or future to grasp.
But, I have since then found,
That the music was never bound,
To any real or firmer ground.

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