From the wrinkles on my forehead to the mud upon my shoe, everything's a memory with strings that tie to you.

In my dream I'm often running to the place that's out of you and every kind of memory with strings that tie to you.

Though change's taking place and I no longer do adore her, still, every God forsaken place is always right around the corner.

Now, I know it's either them or me, so I'll bury every clue and every kind of memory with strings that tie to you.

 Oh, every kind of memory with...

s-t-r-i-n-g-s-t-h-a-t-t-i-e-t-o-y-o-u

-J.B.