| Box on a desk
|
| Next to a castle of glass
|
| That they bought from the airport
|
| The price on the back
|
| Shelves overflow
|
| With photographs and bones
|
| A museum of someone
|
| That will never be known
|
| Pennies for thoughts
|
| That cost a mountain of debt
|
| Rusting in bottles
|
| They’ll never come to collect
|
| They’ll never come to collect
|
| And you were sure that you could keep it all
|
| Off in a tower where there’d always be space
|
| And you were sure that if you read it all
|
| You would eventually come across your own name
|
| Daffodils hanging off a rearview of lies
|
| You keep your foot on the pedal
|
| And you can’t see outside
|
| Boxes of novels
|
| Fill all the seats and the trunk
|
| There’s barely room for a driver
|
| In this treasure chest of junk
|
| And the tower is crumbling
|
| And you are thinking of running
|
| From all these years of commitment
|
| To keep this dead garden growing
|
| To keep this dead garden growing
|
| And you were sure that you could learn it all
|
| And if you did than you would always be safe
|
| And you were sure that you could use it all
|
| To build a fortress they could never take
|
| It’s got to be around here somewhere
|
| Maybe you’re really going mad
|
| Maybe it’s buried in the old school
|
| Maybe you never really-
|
| And now you’re starting look
|
| A little like someone in a book
|
| You’ve tucked yourself inside
|
| Your body pressed and dried
|
| Fairies and princes
|
| And the story doesn’t change
|
| He keeps slaying the dragon
|
| She’s still chained to the cage
|
| And it’s time to retire
|
| But you can’t give up the title
|
| As the head of collections
|
| For these dead letter files
|
| As the head of collections
|
| For these dead letter files
|
| And you were sure that you could keep it all locked
|
| And all the nice dark things would never get lit
|
| And you were sure that you could keep them out
|
| And you were sure that you could keep yourself hid
|
| It’s got to be around here somewhere
|
| Maybe it’s under mom and dad
|
| Maybe you wrote it in your diary
|
| Maybe you never really-
|
| It’s got to be around here somewhere
|
| Maybe you have it to your son
|
| Maybe it’s time you just admit that
|
| Maybe you never really had
|
| A past worth passing on |