I see my past as lost media,

used once and thrown away,

burnt up in the heat of the moment,

and with nothing left to say

I see my past as lost media,

Though old copies might show up,

Try to stop it from circulatin' my mind,

But sometimes my effort's not enough,

my fickle memory is my enemy

my fickle memory will be the end of me

I see my past as lost media,

But every now and then,

When I need a break from the tedium,

I may recollect it like an old friend,

and we sit for a while

my baggage on the side

and admire the silence

as I let my whole life slide by

I treat my past like lost media,

But nostalgia's creepin' in

I know reality's worse than the idea,

And my present's wearin' thin

and we sit for a while

catchin' up on lost lives

until I burn it back down

and bury the remains beneath the ground,

I treat my past like lost media,

Until one day it'll be found,

By then it's all nostalgic,

And I'll feel fine with it back around

and we sit for a while

catchin' up on lost lives

until I burn it back down

and bury the remains beneath the ground,

my fickle memory is my enemy

my fickle memory will be the end of me

(my fickle memory is my enemy)

(my fickle memory will be the end of me)