Pandora’s Box is nothing more than a school of hard knocks.
Where wise elders tell me to fall down and scrape my knees bloody.
Because it’s the only way to learn.
It’s a metaphor for finding truth in logic, and emotion in irrationality.
So I’m swimming in that pool of tears.
Black acid eating away at inhibitions.
I’m opening the box, with a curious grin on my face.
In order to see all the terrible things of the world.
Because Pandora’s Box is simply a way of learning how to grow old.
And I’m guessing it’ll hurt.
Knowing it’ll likely make me cry.
I’m thinking it’s a bad idea,
But I’m going to do it anyway.
And the elders are nodding their heads slowly and smiling.
I want to live.
A land where nothing exists except for black and white,
Good and evil.
Just isn’t my bag.
So I’ve fallen out of trees, and cut up my flesh on metal and rock.
But at the end of the day.
It’s a good thing.
When I open Pandora’s Box, and let all the night terrors out;
I’m not going to cry a pool of black acid.
I’m going to weep for sake of experience.
Pandora’s Box.
