Here's one about the selective and uncontrolled nature of memory as we get older:

MEMORY

By the window he lights up a smoke, and hides it in his palm.
Carefully now, for he doesn't want to set off the alarm.
And is it smoke that brings the tear in his eye, or is it just regret
For the things he can't remember and the things he can't forget?

Faces and voices swim in his head and all is just a blur.
Moments of happiness and hours of shame his memory still share,
And he can't tell which of the faces he loved, to which he owes a debt
For the things he can't remember and the things he can't forget.

Memory 's not a blessing, only a curse, as life piles on the years.
The things you want to keep so quickly disperse and left are only fears.

One of the faces was close to his heart, but can't recall the name.
Was it a relative or was it a friend? He feels that he's to blame.
He knows he told her that she looked good in red, he tries so hard and yet
There are things he can't remember, there are things he can't forget.

Noises of battle mix with cries for help – it must have been the war.
But is the screaming face haunting his dreams one of a friend, or foe?
And though his mind he trawls he cannot control what gets caught in the net;
There are things he can't remember, there are things he can't forget.

(instrumental break)

It's getting light, the nurse will come soon; it's time for morning pills.
Puts out the stub and gathers his robe against the winter chills.
And as he shuffles back, they shuffle behind and follow him to bed
All the things he can't remember, and the things he can't forget.

My aunt died last year after 8 awful years of Alzheimers. Now my own father, at 86, is starting to lose his memory and I hate to see it. He was the one I was thinking of, writing this.