A warehouse full of trash
|I’ve searched and searched and searched again
but nowhere can I find
some signs of hope or even life
within my cluttered mind.
Deep in this attic strewn with junk
are relics of my past,
the flotsam and the jetsam, too,
a warehouse full of trash.
The dust is piled high on things
with cobwebs all around.
Within this mess of odds and ends
no value could be found.
What was I looking for again?
What brought me to this place?
And does it matter anyway?
This dump is a disgrace.
When I collected all this stuff,
the odds and ends I stored,
I never thought to look ahead
and now I have this hoard.
But this place isn’t filled with gold.
It isn’t worth a dime.
Just worthless worn-out memories
all covered up with grime.
Yet still I find some comfort here.
I do, I must confess.
‘Cause this is who I really am -
this crazy, hopeless mess.