The Wooden Whining Box

the wooden whining box
it's my instrument of choice
when the world goes grey
and words just won't suffice

it moves to the rhythms
of a melancholy mood
it sings a gentle song
only time cares to forget

it's my surrogate heart
with a four string pulse
it's the heartbreak I hold dear
on seven simple bars, only I can hear

I'm standing in the doorway
looking at you, looking somewhere else
I've got one foot out the door
and one hand, on my wailing wooden box

someday I'll find a hammer
and smash that box to pieces
because every time I play
the sound remains the same
on that wooden whining box