I have a box of every letter you wrote, but I don't know what it's for
It's in closet by a box of wires, I don't use anymore
I don't really need them, I don't need to keep them
Time floats away like the ashes that are made when paper is set on fire
I took a picture, put it on the wall, but I don't know what it's for
It's just another thing in front of my eyes, I don't see anymore
Every day I walk past them, I don't know what happened
Time floats away like the ashes that are made when paper is set on fire