Musicbox

We are all a part of something.
Something small...
And we are all really nothing.
Our names will, one out of a billion trillion, not be remembered.
in about a century our great great great grandchildren
will not be able to figure out what our simple names were
for their family trees.

And it's a beautiful thing.
And it's a tragic thing.

I am the ballerina inside your musicbox.
The centuries spin by before I am allowed to have my moment again.
And then... You wind me up.
And I prepare myself to show you what I've got.
And then...

I can breath.
The light comes in.
And I'm alive.

And you watch me.

And you look at me with love.

And then...
And then...
You close the box.
And I am shoved back into my cave.
And slowly the music fades.
and I...

become nothing.
Insignificant.



And it's... tragic.
And it's... beautiful.