Anon: the things we used to know
They won’t come back
They can’t come back
We used to think they mattered so
As pages turn
We come, we go
 
There is a road out by the way,
Twas meant to lead to somewhere;
But somewhere never had its day,
The way lies empty, cold and bare
 
Anon: the things we used to know
They won’t come back
They can’t come back
We used to think they mattered so
As scattered leaves
We come, we go
 
My sister owned an orange car
With denim seats our dad put in;
But long ago it disappeared,
The world of ‘not’ that once ‘had been’
 
Perhaps, somewhere out past this spot,
Her teenage dream-car still has wheels;
And I could call it on this phone,
The timeless truth this place reveals
 
Anon: the things we used to know
They will come back
They can come back
They mattered then and now; and so
As rivers run
And time will flow
 
We hear the engine running still
That young and old and old and young
Still are and were and were and are
The dreams they dream, the songs they’ve sung
 
So ever and anon, we know
Abandonment need not take place;
The memory is still alive
Within the slightest living trace
 
The trees are thirsty, grass is dry,
The world has changed, and yes, we lack —
But still, connected we must be:
The road can only lead us
 
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