Last November The Attic's Full Of Paper Hearts
The antique feeling of autumn,
tangled in her hair,
whispered through the naked trees.
I slipped in the hall,
the staircase was soaked with her tears,
as it gathered in puddles beneath my knees.
I’ll climb the ladder to the attic,
waiting for flowers to bloom,
I hate the walls in this room,
they close in and they talk to me.
Ch: I hope she can swim cause she's diving in,
into the deep end,
She replaced her eyes with a lens that told lies,
and she bleeds from the cut, oh
from the cut of a paper heart that was ripped
Into shreds and laid out on her bed
for the cameras to capture in their film.
Collecting dust, on the mantle, she's on display,
Behind the glass, exposing her pearly white teeth.
Back up, start from here, she's grinning from ear to
ear, plot the point on the timeline,
where the poison army infiltrated her veins.
Bridge: Hiding in boxes,
Away from the light,
The fabric was sewn,
By the stories of her life.
Ch: Repeat
These clothes are old
inside of each fold,
is a story that will never be told,
In the attic for all eternity,
out of sight and out of mind everyday.
Ch: Repeat- out of mind everyday
