You left me with some things:
a spoon, a tie, some socks.
I kept the old shirt you'd wear at night
when we'd climb into bed and turn out the light.
They're all piled in the corner now,
and everything must go.
You made me mighty blue,
so I'd used to look around at day
and see what'd take this hole away.
Your favorite color poking through
the sheets would drop my spirits low;
now everything must go.
I kept your letters and your face
embrodiered on a sleeve of lace
as memories of happy times
and shallow grace;
but now they feed a hungry fire,
and everything must go.
