A Room Once Called Yours

Four years worth of dust
Collected in the center of a room you once called yours
And the furniture's gone
But the bed frame left an imprint in the floor
That will be a reminder to those who might find
All the traces of trying a life leaves behind
And I've gone back and forth on it one thousand times
But I can't seem to make sense of how I got here
And since I moved back home
I haunt the attic where I hid away in as a child
And now I do the same
Peering out from shelves that line a hallway's worth
of old family photos, compact discs and and crates
of assignments unfinished or turned in too late
And the floorboards are buckling under the weight
of the ghosts I've been dragging around
So why do we decide to leave when what we really wanna do is stay?
And when all we want to do is sleep, we force ourselves awake
And we keep our distance from the things
We long to be close to
And we contradict the things we know
And try our best to prove the opposite
You can paint over patches, scrub all the scratches from the dirty hardwood floor.
Take down the paintings, never erasing what has haunted these hallways before.
Empty your wallets, fill up your closets. Is it a privilege or a chore?
Do what you damn well please, it won't bother me.
I don't live there anymore
Paint over patches, scrub all the scratches from the dirty hardwood floor
Take down the paintings, never erasing what has haunted these hallways before
Empty your wallets, fill up your closets. Is it a privilege or a chore?
Do what you damn well please, it won't bother me
I don't live there anymore