Black music box
with an old wooden handle--
burnt out
from strikes upon metal.
Worn and ruined, used too much
Little music box, play a song
too sad to sing.

Black music box
with rusty insides,
wet from
being thrown in the tides.
Brittle and bent, no umbrella for protection.
Little music box, play a melancholy melody
too quiet to hear.

Black music box
with a solemn shadow,
shrink away
from the chilling undertow.
Alone and afraid, no comfort in sight.
Little music box, plays a memory forever
until it breaks.

You twang like knives,
but your hum
will reside;
Little black music box,
sing to her 'till your
tunes collide.