Find the little black box in my soul.

Play it back to me in a sequence of nine.

Try to understand all the reasons.

Try to find the excuses and the circumstance.

 

Offer me up a retribution.

Give me to them as a sacrifice.

I smoke away on an empty day.

I clover it over after time passed away.

 

My life is a bottle and the rhyme that it gives

is nothing to you, or to yours, or to them.

My life is a puddle that is drying away,

it means less than most in the clouds of today.

 

Ask all of your questions, write all of them down.

Puzzle it out until you've found every meaning.

Then boil me down to one or two phrases.

And lock them away in skeleton cases.

 

Lock them away in airtight disgraces.