The pressed down coins from Disneyland,
An old time shell buried in sand.
A pincer a tiny crab had lost,
A butterfly's wing, a fairy's ghost.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
Fifty cents I had got from the States,
A broken wheel from one of my skates.
A treasured bead from my old pearl chain,
A faded doll from a clockwork train.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
A porcupine's quill from the woods of the south,
A whistle that used to live in my mouth.
A collar of my puppy dog,
Bits of wood from a redwood log.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
An old time shell buried in sand.
A pincer a tiny crab had lost,
A butterfly's wing, a fairy's ghost.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
Fifty cents I had got from the States,
A broken wheel from one of my skates.
A treasured bead from my old pearl chain,
A faded doll from a clockwork train.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
A porcupine's quill from the woods of the south,
A whistle that used to live in my mouth.
A collar of my puppy dog,
Bits of wood from a redwood log.
This brittle box shows things to me,
It holds the key to my memories.
