Chuck your documents and bills, your old love letters in
For I am your container, your waste paper bin
I’ll take whatever you give, and I won’t tell a sole
You can count on me, secrecy is my role

I come in all shapes and sizes, with lids and without
You can dispose of whatever you wish, of that there’s no doubt
What goes in the bin stays in the bin, shredded or not
Under a desk, in the corner, your garbage, I’ll take the lot

But should somebody come just to rummage around
I can’t be held responsible for what it is they’ve found
I only hold your papers and don’t know what is contained within
It is not my duty to judge if the papers reveal any sins

Every so often you empty me and the history for you I keep
But you have plenty to refill me, in fact more and more each week
To you I’m just a container, a vessel of no repute
But I’m a hoarder of your *******, of that there’s no dispute

If only I understood all that you lob
That would for me make a very interesting job
Perhaps I could figure out what is fact, fiction or sin
But I know my place I am just a trusty old waste paper bin