Carboard Box

With three cigarettes, softly she sits
Down on her knees on the floor
In a color scheme that she's only seen
In nightmares before
Basement stairs, and green armchairs
A door that never locks
She sits holding her Saint Christopher
That she keeps in a cardboard box

Holding each part close to her heart
Just like she once held me
From her fingertips to her sweet young lips
And head full of memories
Night starts to fall, on the royal ball
Her mind begins to walk
Away from the things that those people bring
That she keeps in a cardboard box

No windows, no doors, no light anymore
Only the sound of a prayer
Blood on fingers, the smell of cloves lingers
Hanging in the air
She dances on air with nobody there
In a room full of dirt and rocks
And I'm just a toy for her to enjoy
That she keeps in a cardboard box