This shoebox is full of all my old things
Faded photographs, Christmas cards and rings
Here's a letter you wrote, candle wax & a silver stone
Here's a piece of The Wall, a Polaroid of us all
Is that who we are
Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall?
From baby shoes to funeral songs
From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall
This shoebox lid is taped and torn
It's water stained from where it is was stored
A house for ghosts, a jail for bones
A playground for stories and cemetery stones
Is that who we are
Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall?
From baby shoes to funeral songs
From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall
Broken mirrors and tattooed tears
A lock of your hair, the chain you would wear
Is all I have left a piece of your dress
However small,
It's who we are
Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall
From baby shoes to funeral songs
From where lipstick stains to where ashes fall
It's who we are
Just shoeboxes full of our rise and fall
