By now all the parts, have all been replace
to the point that all that's left is a soul
Nothing original remains, even though it looks whole
Time has set and taken its toll
But I just can't let go
Would be hard to impart, the meaning it has to me
Need to start at the beginning
It's become a part of my story, piles of junk
Telling a hoarder's history
It's a part of my soul
It looks like junk but it has history
It's not worth much, to anyone but me
Inside these pages holds my memory
It's not much, but to me
It's a meaningful thing
It looks like a pile just collecting dust
Keys to old locks not worth anything much
Can't bring myself to throw it away
I'm connected to the words written on the page
It looks like junk but it has history
It's not worth much, to anyone but me
Inside these pages holds my memory
It's not much, but to me
It's a meaningful thing
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