I’m runnin’ out of room to store The thoughts within my head; Every shelf and closet filled, They’re stuffed beneath the bed. It’s not that I’m not organized, The shelves I clearly mark; Rows and rows for every thought, The good ones and the dark. Through eyes and ears and touch and smell, The tongue from tastes it delves, Through the senses gathered thoughts I’ve stored upon the shelves. But every new sensation now Replaces those I store; Each new face and pristine place Push others out the door. I forget the names I know When new ones I may learn; And can’t remember where I’m at Whichever way I turn. Misplace the keys, my socks and shoes, Forget to shut the door; I say hello and mean goodbye Want less when I need more. It’s not that I am growing old, It’s something else instead; I think I simply know so much I need a bigger head.