I know you will think I made this up but ….last week I found Lyrics that I wrote in 1978 !! Titled “The Box”. I literally found the yellowed paper in “A Box”! I have no idea what I was going through at the time but here were my lyrical thoughts…I seem to slightly remember a melody as well but as I dont write music I guess the melody will be forever in my head…
He’s riding along on his bike,
In search of something he might like,
And all he’s got is his guitar,
A 25 cent chocolate bar,
A sleeping bag all tattered and torn,
And an overcoat that’s never been worn.
Tucked tightly under his arm,
A small wooden box all covered in dust,
Sealed tight with a lock which is covered in Rust.
His running shoes are full of holes,
There is nothing left of his soles.
But he doesn’t mind because he has a mission,
This has put him in a sad position;
He must plunge into society,
And cross-examine all humanity,
He must find out who owns the good world we once had,
And who occupies the space, good or bad?
He’s riding in the poor parts of the world, He’s riding around and around.
And all he can see is half of number four,
Because half the address has fallen off the door.
It seems as though no one has had the time to put it back up there,
Or maybe they couldn’t afford it’s because their wallet was bare.
Now he’s riding in the rich parts of the world.
He’s riding the streets up and down.
And what does he see?
A gay old bitty,
She’s probably the wife of the mayor of the city.
She hops out of her limousine,
She makes believe she doesn’t want to be seen.
She steps into her Cadillac,
With a million-dollar mink on her back.
He sleeps in motels,
Much cheaper than hotels.
But the bed’sheld up with sticks,
And the bloody place stinks.
And there’s dust half an inch thick on the walls,
And the spiders and cockroaches fill the halls,
But all in all,
It’s a heck of a place for the price it costs.
Behind the tavern in a lane,
An old wino asleep on the window pane,
No matter how you look at it it’s all the same,
It seems that half the people on this earth are insane.
Across from the theater,
A small child shines shoes for half fare.
If she can manage to make fifty cents today,
Then that should be enough to pay her way through one more day.
Now he’s approaching the bridge,
Standing on the very ridge.
Staring into the choppy waters below,
And at the full moon that makes the water glow.
Now it would be easy to end it all,
He could drop into the sea like a large beach ball.
But something inside his wooden box (a tiny voice) urges him to stop.
So he does, and gets back onto his bike,
To continue his worldwide Hike,
For he knows that nothing could stop him now,
Whether that force comes from down below or up above,
Because tucked in the corner of his wooden box… Is a tiny thing called love.
He believes there still exists a brotherhood,
And if everybody had a wooden box, Then…
( I thank you for keeping in mind that the author was very young at the time…)