The River

But I remember us riding in my brother’s car,
Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir.
At night on them banks I’d lie awake,
And pull her close just to feel each breath she’d take.
Now those memories come back to haunt me, they haunt me like a curse.
Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true?
Or is it something worse, that sends me
Down to the river, though I know the river is dry,
That sends me down to the river tonight?

- Bruce Springsteen, The River