cleaning pimento

it is not sights but smells that take me back
the dust of spices sits within my brain
and memories of memories in train
my mind has fallen down an open crack
the rope will hold me it has enough slack
i hear old stories and i know their strain
tales of past suffering and of others' pain
while the imposing present fades to black
we never learn just what we ought to know
but who we are is more than just a line
and heavy odours lull us all to sleep
and now we've found out where we have to go
in every corner now the sun must shine
but we can't choose whose memories to keep