I am a precious jewel.
Beautiful, radiant, unique and dazzling.
I have that "bling, bling" and
everyone wants me.
But I belong to somebody.
My master takes me out of a
Secret, hidden dark compartment
That I lovingly refer to as "the box".
But only when he's ready to look at me.
Otherwise I hide, so no one can see
or hear from me.
My master has a collection.
And I'm so much brighter than
the other jewels,
The funny thing is they don't
even know about me.
I've seen them all,
I've met a few,
Some have even tried to hang with me.
But seriously, they don't even compare
to my qualities.
He keeps us all.
I don't understand why.
It frustrates the shit out of me.
I could have so much more space
in the box.
He should really throw those ugly
Fragmented rocks and fools gold
In the trash where they belong,
Never to be seen or heard from again,
My master is a misfit collector of sorts,
Because those rocks he keeps even lay
On the dirt he found them in.
They lay there alone, unaware, ignorant.
Flopping in their filth like desperate
Unable to find their own damn master.
Unkept, wild, whorish, without a mind.
They don't even realize where
In a collectors box,
In a separate bin,
In my masters treasure box.
Which should never have let them in.
Because of them I removed the word "treasure" and call it "the box".
My master picks me up with care
And talks to me like I'm the only jewel
In his care.
But I know the truth,
I can see through my booth,
I am an enlightened jewel from
I feel souls and see ghosts,
My heart quietly beats then bleeds.
My master shows me off to a select few,
Then shoves me back in my place again.
He never touches those other rocks,
So I feel special, but a little odd.
Master, why am I in a box?
I'm your only precious jewel,
Shouldn't I be near your heart?