Septic Flesh

From the chest of fake hopes, where we leave the needless things.
I found a dusty object it had a special gift.
From its opened top a sound came out, a phantom from the past.
Sacred nights I felt like heaven, rusty days I felt like hell.
This music box reminds me of you. This Little music box.
Its melody is a distant smile, a face I thought I knew.
Like a lizard in the desert, I drifted without rest.
And the heat appeared so liquid; it had the taste of the salty sea.
Pandora's fate is captured in my box.