This is the story about my life, Nay, not about marrying or having a wife, Well, maybe ‘bout daggers and a butcher’s knife; It’s just a plain story of my life. I’ve been a book as far as I know They used to read me a long time ago That was around the war-time before You were born and I, kept in the store. The kids would love the story I told Of the rich, the famous and bold Of castles and knights and the witches old And dungeons beneath the land so cold. There was always a mystery ‘bout me Fascinating eyes read me with glee A story from me would always be Imagined and become reality. But now, I’m tattered, old and worn In age, well sure, I have grown My pages have turned to a dull brown My countenance has a sad frown. Its ages since I have been read Or near a warm lamp by a bed To amaze the dreams of a sleepy head Oh! How I just long to be read!