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Somewhere in my closet
There's a cardboard box just sittin' on a shelf.
It's full of faded memories
And it's been there ever since the night you left.
--
Who Needs Pictures, written by Brad Paisley, Chris DuBois and Frank Rogers

 

Brad Paisley

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Sittin' in the mornin' sun,
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes.
Watchin' the ships roll in;
And I watch 'em roll away again.
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Watchin' the tide roll away.
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Wastin' time.

 

Otis Redding

 

So I guess I'll remain the same
Sittin' here restin' my bones.
Wish this loneliness would leave me alone.
For 2,000 miles I roamed
Just to make this dock my home.
Sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watchin' the tide roll away.
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Wastin' time.

 

Otis Redding

 

Of what she said to me that night—no matter.
The strange thing came next day.
My brain was full of music—something she played me—;
I couldn't remember it all, but phrases of it
Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories,
Seeking for something, trying to tell me something,
Urging to restlessness: verging on grief.
I tried to play the tune, from memory,—
But memory failed: the chords and discords climbed
And found no resolution—only hung there,
And left me morbid . . . Where, then, had I heard it? . . .

 

Conrad Aiken

 

The memories of the first Independence Day may have faded, but the power of that magical moment must never be forgotten.

 

Shashi Tharoor

 

So this, then, is the chamber of the hootchy-kootch. Its bathtub full of orchids. Its closet full of smoke.

 

Tom Robbins