| Packing up all these boxes
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| Blowing dust off memories
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| Every little thing I seem to find
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| Is one last look at you and me
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| A few old CDs at the bottom
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| I turn one over and find our song
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| And there’s a t-shirt that the band signed, that night
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| I always wondered where it had gone
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| If anyone else opened this box
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| They’d see for themself
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| It’s just a pile of old junk
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| But to me, everything in there is a secret memory
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| It’s all that I have left of you and me
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| But to anyone else, it’s just other people’s things
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| There’s the shoes I wore on our first date
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| A photo of us in the snow down town
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| That old pair of jeans you used to hate
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| So full of holes but I wouldn’t throw them out
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| It’s hard to see these things when you don’t need me now
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| If anyone else opened this box
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| They’d see for themself
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| It’s just a pile of old junk
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| But to me, everything in there is a secret memory
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| It’s all that I have left of you and me
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| But to anyone else, it’s just other people’s things, woah
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| If anyone else opens this box
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| And helps themself to whatever they want
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| Well I hope everything in there is a better memory
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| Better than they were for you and me
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| 'Cause when I close this box
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| They’re not ours anymore
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| If there’s no you and me
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| They’re just other people’s things
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| They’re just other people’s things |