Take that polyester shirt you used to love to touch
All the records that we scratched when we drank too much
All the tickets and the trinkets and toys and such
And box it up for me
All the second hand books we bought but never read
And the kinky little secrets underneath our bed
The blood send to tell us our future's dead
Box it up for me
Spoken: And so it turns out that we're exactly who we thought we were. There's no redemptive arc. There's no shock and final twist. Just the corniest of cliches, in the ending that everyone predicted. And the fading flavour of the wrong lips kissed
Find that little check dress you wore in holiday
All the letters full of words we could never say
Every tender token we left on display
And box it up for me
All those polaroids you've hated of you in the shower
And the picture of us dancing at Blackpool Tower
Every burnt out candle, every dry, dead flower
Box it up for me
Box it up for me