There is a box, a secret box
Where anything could hide,
But guarded by some seven locks
You cannot get inside.

Within this box, this secret box
Are feelings strongly hushed,
And guarded by some seven locks
There lies a mirror crushed.

Each shard of glass reflects a tale
Of whispers in the wind,
The cloudy evenings, grey and pale,
And voices from within.

Each shard of glass can sing of those
Who sought eternal youth,
But never found the blooming rose
That held the only truth.

And in this box, this secret box
There lies this rose so fair,
But guarded by some seven locks
You cannot see it’s there.

There was a word, a secret word
That once unlocked the soul,
A word your dreams have three times heard:
The distant fog bell’s toll.

And there’s a key, a secret key
That conscience cannot hide,
And if you found it, you would see
Whatever was inside.

But in this box, this secret box
Of things you’ll never see,
And guarded by some seven locks
There lies the only key.