Souvenir, souvenir, que me veux-tu ?

Time and space whisper in my ears, they tell me " the night when you and your friend tried to remember those lines is far, already...".

But for my heart, such words are meaningless, they have no weight, no value ; for my heart is stubborn and the sweet sound of our scottish sensation will never abandon it, rooted like a gentle, melllow memory.

The Lady of Lowlands