Lyrics

A living, breathing photograph of the best parts of my life Her eyes are glazed and see a stranger Mine are pained as I look at my wife Our final hours are now broken up by weeks Designated visits strictly limited to 60 minutes Should leave things left unsaid Should leave things incomplete But without fail there is silence As she searches for memories I obsessively check the time And try to bury thoughts of her decline beneath Thoughts of the sepia good times And there are occasional glimpses of recognition But I've learnt to dismiss them As the well-oiled pistons of a driverless train Yeah her face occasionally flexes Into shapes so well practiced When her broken synapses Spark in the right way But it's never quite the same…