Boxes and baskets of all her old things
Porcelain dolls, portrait paintings
She swore they'd be worth something
They're just gathering dust in my attic somewhere
And she's lost in a room where she sits and she stares
Her mind as blank as the walls
Her memory as vacant as the halls
I'm the only daughter of her oldest son
I knew her well before her spirit was gone
And her life is a thread woven into every part of me
She is unraveling, she is unraveling
She looks in my eyes and asks me my name
Every five minutes I tell her the same
She smiles but it's cold and dead
And I'm screaming out loud in my head
Chorus repeats
I tried to pull her back
Stories and photographs of her children who love her
Sisters and brothers
She can't remember but how could a heart forget?
I've been tearing through boxes on nights I can't sleep
Searching for memories of who she used to be