Another night begins and thoughts run riot, memories,
the shadow land called the past. Useless, experiences
have to be lived in the now, no room for reflection when
it happens. We have to live in our mistakes, when we
thought we were right. As night end and morning begins
I will reflect, when the sun comes over the Spanish hill.
But my distress is total the night will not leave its terror,
and the past seems like a better place.
