I remember how the campfire on the beach burned all night long
And awaking in the morning to an old Buck Owens song
And the smell of the ocean and the tide pulling me toward something that might have been true
I remember everything, but I don’t remember you

The blind man in Paris had a guitar in the shape of a heart
The way he played “Wild Horses” just about tore me apart
I was much too young, I’d never been so far from home, I was standing on that avenue
Tears streaming down my face, but I don’t remember you

I’m not saying you weren’t there, I’m not saying you’re not the one who’d make it all make sense
But if it’s all the same to you I’d just as soon chalk it up to coincidence . . . .

I remember waking up and wondering where the time had gone, you tell me time just flew
I remember everything, but I don’t remember you

I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m not saying the things you say aren’t so
But the stuff you’re trying to convince me of, baby that’s just stuff I don’t wanna know . . . .

I never understood how things could disappear so fast
I can tell your fortune but I’m no good at predicting the past
I don’t really even work here, I’m just filling in for Jimmy while he’s gone, you showed up out of the blue
I remember everything, but I don’t remember you