Old kitchen smell
Brings me right back
To a memory I just didn't know that I still had

As a writer
You'd think I could
Tell apart what matters from what should be overlooked

But that is far away from true
'Cause I am constantly pursuing
What's the meaning and the use of
All these memories perfuming

All my present days with aged scents
Oxidated by distorted levels of importances
Perspective is relative

I know compared to all the galaxy
My problems seem so small
Turns out I wasn't born a galaxy
I'm a writer, I recall

I'll only make you cry in public
Thinking fondly 'bout a time
When you were happy with someone
But now it's only in your mind

And you know history books won't tell it
Suddenly you are consumed
By these assured ephemeralities
And people's finitudes

Oblivion
The unavoidable doom

Life keeps passing
Passions mutate
You seem to have gone so far you fear it's getting late

Then you get home
A long time abroad
And you feel the sizes of the rooms are somehow odd

But that is far away from true
Of course you know the house just stood there
While the changing part was you
Who got your memories confused

With trivialities from recent days
Slowly overwriting all the limited space of your brain
Is ignorance a bliss?

I know compared to all the galaxy
My problems seem so small
Turns out I wasn't born a galaxy
I'm a writer, I recall

I'll only make you cry in public
Thinking fondly 'bout a time
When you were happy with someone
But now it's only in your mind

And you know history books won't tell it
Suddenly you are consumed
By these assured ephemeralities
And people's finitudes

Oblivion
The unavoidable doom
Oblivion
The unavoidable doom