Leave our thingsnLeave them wrapped in dustnProtect our thingsnWrapped in a film of usnnTouch them sometimesnTo remind them whose they arenAnd let the layers build upnDirt is falling in the darknnCommit them to bagsnAnd filthy framesnAs your air blows past themnSometimes whisper their namesnnTouch them sometimesnTo remind them whose they arenAnd let the layers build upnDirt is falling in the darknnI fell out of pacenI favoured newness over younYet I still like to thinknThat our things are always truennTouch them sometimesnTo remind them whose they arenAnd let the layers build upnDirt is falling in the darknnThis is just a hiccupnIn a bigger sea of plannOh, I sit here, I swaynTo preserve what I can