The box in which I open,
unleashes precious memories.
Pictures of special times,
can bring tears to my eyes.
In times like these,
which are lonely and sad.
My hair is tousled and my eyes are gray.
Its just to bad.
The familiar scents,
the pictures of friends.
The use to be phone calls,
and well written notes.
Help to regain a spark of hope.
I wish it was what it used to be.
I miss my best friend.
The road trips and picture taking.
The Beatles and the couch.
Touching guitars.
Dont forget Ruby and being caught in the act.
Now just look what Ive become.
Broken and lonesome.
Just someone in need.
Who made some mistakes.
Wishing they could take them back.
But its just too late.
Tired and drowsy,
and just wanting to leave.
I remember the box
and everything begins coming back to me.
