The smell of dusty tales of the past The smell of dusty tales of the past, the view of the clear summer sky through layers of dirt resting on the windshield. the bitter taste of cheap wine, the sway of the mind from the pills you stole from your mother. painted maps like oil on a canvas directing us to memories of simpler times and almost lovers. Most of the time I just want to forget; but my god, being here with you, it feels so good to just remember. We think there for we are; let's kill the body and leave the mind, it's the only thing that's going matter.