Threads That Bind

In a closet underneath the stairs You place things as graying hairs Arrive to your head As you put your corpse to bed An old, withering rose 15 years decomposed The chipping of faded paint A white dress that dust now taints To shades of ashtrays Now unfit for display Entombed in rolling hills of scrapped Cobweb covered photographs In that dark room you find All frayed are the threads that bind The garment once was cream With small holes showing at the seams His puppet strings still tightly wound The final knot just can't be found