Music Box

In the corner behind the cuckoo clock
Sits a tattered, stained and soulful box
Every time I open it she plays
with her musical doll eyes
sleeping when down she's laid.

And i sing a lullaby
right before I cry
happens so many times
I lost track at five

When the humming ends
I reach for a dear ghost's hands
She isn't there but she's here
and I know she closed her eyes
to every tear
long ago...

And so I have only a substitute
understanding my pain in mute
and her silence is getting old
because my heart is like hers now.....
cold

There's another box inside that room
but it's moving to earth. it's ashes soon
and there's another musical doll with closed eyes
residing inside those 4 wooden sides

And i used to have to open them each and every day
the boxes, the eyes or history would slip away
to complete my circle of family
i've got my box here and it's ready for me

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