Count Souvenirs

A pair of shoes Some old reviews That you kicked behind the door A calling card Is torn apart And it's wasted on the floor Some city scene You're like a preteen Chasing all the latest news We're back at home We fix old radios Wiping off the dusty tunes So Please, please don't touch Please, please don't touch I keep it warm At thirty-four Like the way it was before Your favorite shirt A little dirt Builds inside the bedroom drawer 'Cause all the paint And the stains All the papers and the fumes They're all of you They stay alive And inside the things we knew So Please, please don't touch Please, please don't touch Empty stalls and shopping malls That we'll never see again Hotel lobbies like painful hobbies That linger on Time compares us, you feel embarrassed Like you drive your parent's car On another road, in another road Kept in a jar