To weight a life, as if we could, and tip the scale with bad or good, To fit it in a box of wood, then dig a hole to bury it. Love newly born, or love forlorn, here lies within this sinking skin, I shout to shut, you shout to shut, to Shut The Box. They say it holds the eye of the sun ! They say it holds the teeth of the moon ! Don’t touch the box, or shake the box, cause you could drop and break the box, Let open wide, spill what’s inside, exposing what we’d hope to hide, A tougne of fire, a house of lies, the darker parts of secret lives, I shout to shut, you shout to shut, we shout to shut, to Shut The Box, To slam the lid, to nail it shut, then carry it, where none will see, Some mountain-top, for history. They say it holds the eye of the sun ! They say it holds the teeth of the moon ! In innocence, we opened wide, so curious to see inside, And lost ourselves, somewhere within, too deep to find our way back out. They shout to shut, they shout to shut, to Shut The Box, to lock us up, To slam the lid, and nail it shut, For history. c2010 Ron Renaud