Past lives cut deep
They get right down to the bone
Then leave a smell that lingers in the air like cologne you got for cheap
Like those memories
They often drop by while we're asleep
These informal visitors I declare as enemies
Still these lies we tell ourselves refuse to leave
For this mind is never free when even dreams deceive
We haunt one another so frequently one of us should probably call a priest
That might be a relief
Until again we fall asleep