the memory machine

i miss you and the memory machine, and the factory where we make something of dreams, and we wandered around your streets, with sewn on button eyes our ears become our memories, the blind loving the blind, and our voices become our fingers, and you touched me with your song, and touched me all night long, i miss you, i miss you, and the memory machine making whiskey from the things, we no longer need and you kissed me, but i was too drunk to really know, that you loved me enough to watch me go, i miss you