[ماكنزي]

Time passed by my door

leaving a box of gifts

I put it on the floor

and opend it in a thrift

People come and go

One is a friend one is a foe

One gives me a flower hiding a knife

One hides to me a flower holding a knife

And in this hour I long to that life

I can't see the friends, Ican't see the foes

All what I see is a dusty box, papers and ropes
Memories, Memories, Memories