Bitten

I've been living in a wooden box
in the back of a dusty closet.
I have not seen the stars
since i was but a child,
eyes eager to learn.

Was the sun always so bright,
or do my eyes need to adjust?
Was the wind always so strong,
or is my body simply weak?

I've been living in a wooden box
painted with roses and locked with no key.
I have not seen my reflection
since i was first born,
eyes eager to learn.

Was the glass always so clean,
or do i just need to adjust?
Was the rain walways so warm,
or am i just too accustomed to ice?

I've been living in a wooden box
six feet beneath the sky.
I'll stay here inside my wooden box
until the day i die.