Ridding Myself of Memory

I could sit awhile to watch the sunset.
Yet I’d remember your smile, shown once as bright, and have instant regret.

I could pour myself a glass of wine underneath the glowing moonlight.
Your voice, however, compared to the stars, would distract me from their true beauty; as I dance emotionless in drunken delight.

To turn on the record would even make a jester lose his frown.
Remembering nights we were lost in endless talks to such classical sound.

The last classical piece to be left is that of my heart. The beating no longer accompanies the same melody of strings.
A simple chord of a few notes dating from the new generation sound is the only tune I can manage to sing