Who does urge me?

Is you?
or the train I will be on?

Where is my next stop for memory?
Who gotta bring me to the bleak steppes?
How much sadness shall I bear?
Whom could be remembered as the Beatles in my mind?
What shall I leave for my last and only lover?

It is you, my lord,
You urge me to become hunchbacked and bald.
You push me to get in the train in rush.
You tear all my memory into pieces without any permission.
With your sharp and silent knife in hand.