Is childhood then, a hallowed place,
Or echoes of a sorrowed face?
If once immortal now I fear
My last memoir rolls in this tear.
Too much love did stain my soul
Captured moments burn like coal,
What wailing sound haunts my mind?
‘Good Boy, Good Boy’ it sounds so kind.
Intention not to cause such grief
Nostalgic bliss was oh so brief,
If mercy then becomes too late
An age gone by secures this fate.

William Murrow sits in a room surrounded by his memories. The images of his past mobilise actions of his present.

Crew: