
Things On Their Way Out Unni Wilhelmsen
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Things on their way out
Just things on their way out
Things are coming
And things are going
But these are on their way out:
A fork is rusty
An old can of corn
A friend doesn't call anymore
And that blanket is torn
A dried out plant
That record I hate
Underwear, too small
And the pieces of a plate
A bag full of garbage
The ebb of a flu
One glove that I lost
And the feeling of you...
An empty mascara
Last year’s Christmas cards
A T-shirt that bores me
Used tickets won't get me far
A pet that died
And a thought that just occurred
That lightbulb is broken, I think
And the things that you were...
Just things on their way out
Things are coming
And things are going
But these are on their way out:
A fork is rusty
An old can of corn
A friend doesn't call anymore
And that blanket is torn
A dried out plant
That record I hate
Underwear, too small
And the pieces of a plate
A bag full of garbage
The ebb of a flu
One glove that I lost
And the feeling of you...
An empty mascara
Last year’s Christmas cards
A T-shirt that bores me
Used tickets won't get me far
A pet that died
And a thought that just occurred
That lightbulb is broken, I think
And the things that you were...
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