Lightning

Mitchelhill has gone now, No more forks of yellow from forty clouds, No more 5 times round the roundabout, No more Bruce Lee, Cavalears or fender sounds, Just echos of Santana off Castlemilk's ground. Memories Seem to build like thunder clouds And just one spark can let the sadness out Like lighning Seen by all around Hard to ignore There's a memory behind every one of Glasgow's doors, Seems I can't escape that thing I've been searching for, Seems this ring on my hand is the weight pullin me to the floor, So, How do I get passed the memory clouds and out the door?