there's nothing i could call thisnno architecture for the order of thingsnwhen i sat and watched you sleepingnnbefore the trucks arrivednboxed up your better lifeni wrote you letters for a whilennleft to haunt this sad estatenin hollow walls and empty hallsnbut all i saw wasnsome doll that you'd abandonednnso i crawled insidenwhere the stitching held me tightnand hoped that you'd come back to find me some timenni hope that you'll forgive menfor being so severenyour proximity was clouding my account of what was real herenyou're eight years oldni'm stuck inside the wall nyou always talk nbut never hold menand i wish that you would ask me how i'm feelingnthere's so much i want to tell youn'bout the way i'm disappearingnand so many years have passed since thatni left the houseni left a mapnto my new wallnyou must have never found itnand i heard that you got marriednand i hope she(he) helps you fall asleep these daysnn'cause i knew the waysnwhen you were eightnnyou're not what i imaginednyou'd become when we were youngernbut i'm still in love with that onennand i've since found your parent's housenand live inside the wallsnbut you don't ask about me when you call