This shoebox is full of all my old things
Faded photographs, Christmas cards and rings
All the letters 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 
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
All I have left is 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