WITNESS - Spring Cleaning lyrics

rate me

There's a method to the madness of this attic I'm accustomed to<br />

But every spring I try to visit with a brush and broom<br />

Dust consumes this collection of souvenirs<br />

And tonight I'd like to erase any proof that you were here<br />

Let's begin with a look inside of a shoe box<br />

Here's my youthful aspiration to be 2pac<br />

A book on Darwin with photos of the Galapagos<br />

Here's a picture of the father that I never got to know<br />

A shot my mother bathing her babies in a sink<br />

A mediocre poem that I wrote in golden ink<br />

And over here is a crate of academic records<br />

I traded in for vinyl when I learned I could apply em better<br />

It's apparent that I haven't cleaned in ages when I'm finding<br />

Social studies books with porn between the pages<br />

Born in fetal stages and cluttered ever since<br />

This attic needs the vacancy to make some room to think<br />

But in the corner there's a chest that's under lock and key<br />

And possibly the target of the cleansing<br />

And as it opens there's a part of me that's over it and part of me<br />

That wants to keep remembering<br />

<br />

Dear John, <br />

I'm ecstatic that we met and I<br />

Haven't been upset from the night we spoke on the beach<br />

It feels like there's a part of me that's hollow<br />

And I'll follow you because I think you've got the missing piece<br />

Dear John, <br />

Can't believe it's been a year, wish that you were here with me in this unfamiliar city<br />

I know you're insecurities are eating you alive, but I'm thinking of your eyes every time we... <br />

Dear John, <br />

I'm the victim of a city serpent's venom and I'm being sent away<br />

In search of purpose<br />

It hurts that anniversaries are only words to me and lately I've been wondering why you thought I was worth it<br />

She ran shoe less through shards of my heart of glass toward a garden of golden roses with invisible thorns<br />

And her presence in my attic is an umbilical cord that pulls my physical form towards her miserable storm<br />

I stripped the picture frames of their faces<br />

And liberated shackled chain letters from my ankles and wrists<br />

And kept my fingers from the edges of the envelopes and anything<br />

That might have had a dance with her lips</