The Memory Machine "“ Julia Stone:
I miss you
And the memory machine
And the factory where we make
Something of dreams
And we wandered around your streets
Our ears become our memories.
The blind loving the bline
And our voices become our fingers
And you touched me with your song
And touched me all night long
I miss you
I miss you
And the memory machine
Making whisky from the things
We no longer need
And you kissed me
But I was too drunk to really know
That you loved me
Enough to watch me go
I miss you