Out of a bag,

Oh, the canvas now,

Is cracked and

As memories fade, the lining rips

And

Oh,

The stitches don’t hold

Living out of a bag,

 

Out of a box

The objects don’t quite fit

And

Oh, the canvas now,

The paints have dripped,

As the colors, they fade, the frame it breaks

And

Oh,

The tape doesn’t quite hold

When living out of a bag, out of a box,

 

Out of a buick,

I can barely squeeze the door closed

Yet the pile keeps growing

but

Oh, the canvas now,

There’s never been dust in the corners

Or webs from the ceiling

but

Oh,

The welding doesn’t hold,

And the gears grow tired

When I’ve been living out of a bag, out of a box, out of a buick