A collection of old thoughts

What are those lights?
Where's the ladder to the sky?
Cut me open, show my red meat
Just as long as I can stay on track. Stay on track
And all is all
Find it inside of you
It’s getting harder to find.
Here we come!
Here I come!
You fit right on top
Until you get on your feet
Play your life as planned
Move me home
The tide is out
Your head is in your hands
Due time
Lend myself a hand
Voices from across the river, carried by the wind
In no great hurry
work in concert
let the dying dress up the dead
and from here on end...

Above is a selection of thoughts/sentences that I jotted down sporadically in my teens/early 20s, found from within a vast (vast) collection of journals. These are a selection that resonate with me now for reasons currently unknown.
Each line was written down at a different time, so it's important to note that the lines do not correlate to one another. Well... most all the lines are totally separate–-there are obvious ones that do connect to one another.

Overall it could be considered as quite morose, but I think this is only thought of when the lines of words are combined to form a complete narrative (which, to be fair, can't really be helped when reading them in conjunction).

I'm not sure of the context (i.e. emotional or geographical context) of each line at the time of them being written, but I do know that they are connected through me; I'm the ignorant personified-context who, now, shuffles them together without remembering what they meant at the time, only knowing that it was me who wrote them. I knew I wrote them, but am rediscovering them, and thus: I am reading my own writing for the first time.

At the time of writing most of these words, I was influenced by my love of music and lyric writing (a world now apart from me though). I would spontaneously and periodically jot down my thoughts whenever they sprouted, and write these one-liners that I assumed would later act as keys to open the emotion I felt at the time. Reading them now, I do remember elements that surrounding some of these lines; but not all. I wonder how much of what I remember or empathise with is simply nostalgia, as opposed to the actual experience. Furthermore, I wonder if this is simply a strange case of me trying to empathise with myself, which is something that makes me think that it's bedtime.