| How many times can you read that letter, and what do you need it for?
|
| Can’t you see that the salutation has no meaning anymore?
|
| And you can’t resurrect the body and the closing’s out of date
|
| And if you stumble upon an answer it will always be too late--
|
| You better take that letter, put it in the boyfriend box
|
| Are you still staring at that picture of someone who doesn’t care
|
| Just like you’re looking through a window at a world that isn’t there?
|
| If you’re trying to reconstruct it, it will only fall apart
|
| 'cause there’s really nothing in it but your late, great heart--
|
| You better take that picture, put it in the boyfriend box
|
| Ooh, la, la. |
| ooh, la, la. |
| ooh, la, la
|
| There’s something dark and dead
|
| Buried in your head and underneath your bed
|
| You’re still tempted to believe the world is true
|
| You even almost do
|
| Your little world is a little empty, but the memories never stop
|
| Organizing themselves in layers, the most recent at the top
|
| If you need to go any deeper, you can dig them out again
|
| Just in case you need to be reminded of what a fool you’ve been--
|
| You better take those memories put them in the boyfriend box
|
| Ooh, la, la: take those letters, put them in the boyfriend box |