Letters of consent under the bed in a heart shaped box   Cinema tickets mixed in with dirty socks   Half written postcards to, I can't remember who      I've so many things left over   I don't know where they should go   It's not a mess,   It's personal   Like the home altars of Mexico      It's hard just opening my bedroom door   All my memories, spread out across the floor   A napkin from that meal we shared the other night   Lollypop sticks and Lego bricks   A broken 7 inch, I'll never play   Travel cards from a sunny day   Why can't I throw these things away?      I've so many things left over   I don't know where they should go   It's not a mess,   It's personal   Like the home altars of Mexico