Verse 1

Elia, eleven, leaves her things in a trail,

A sweater by the doorway, a sock by the rail.

We ask her to gather what she’s scattered around;

She smiles, then the next little treasure is found.

Chorus

Elia, come on, put it back where it goes,

There’s a place for the comb and a place for your clothes.

And the fridge gets a visit a hundred times a day—

Just checking what might have appeared on the way.

Verse 2

At our Elishka’s, the onion scent stays,

A tiny odd detail that brightens our days.

Then out comes Jason, her Yorkshire terrier small,

She carries that dog like the queen of them all.

Chorus

Elia, come on, put it back where it goes,