My mother is a time machinenputting ballads on my kneesnalways complains about my clothesntelling me don't pick you nosennI with that i could see her therenwhen she got ribbons in her hairnthen I could go ahead and saynI know you when you old and graynnMy toys they break so fastnthey turn into vintage of the lostnI know then when they fall apartnI will keep them close bynyes, even when they fall apartnkeep them close by