I saw you on the streets, holding his hands
Looking into his eyes, just like you looked ino mine
Asking him if he’d ever leave you
And trying to match his steps – oh the memories!
Afraid of crossing the street, you clenched his palms,
And he, just like me, held you tight
But he couldn’t help but laugh; you punched him playfully
Like we did years ago – oh the memories!
You entered ‘The Cafe’ in which the waiters know us,
They recognized you but not him
I’d have been happy if they’d asked you how I am
And you’d have said “Fine, if I am” – oh the memories!
I stood there stiff and watched you argue over who’s right
I knew deep down he’d have felt so proud to have you
Just like I had. And I saw him say those magical words to you
You replied to him – “I hate those memories”.