memories

I sit cold in this musty basement,
in a house I used to know.
I listen to these songs again,
as the TV casts its familiar glow.

Outside the sun is filtering,
through the trees that shade our youth.
Inside I write down these dusty rhymes,
cos I've got nothing else to do.

The house is warm, but empty
with memories that soak through.
I think I need a cigarette,
I think that I need you.