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The memory machine

par Julia Stone

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I miss you.
And the memory machine,
And the factory, where we make
Something of dreams,
And we wandered around your street,
With sewn on button eyes,
Our ears become our memories.

The blind loving the blind,
And our voices became our fingers,
And you touched me with your song,
You touched me all night long.

I miss you.
I miss you.
And the memory machine,
Making whiskey, 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.
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