He has his little red note book,
In which he hides his life,
In which he keeps his secrets,
His pleasures and his strife.

He has his little red notebook.
In his notes he takes great care.
He lives inside his notebook.
You can find him nowhere but there.

He carries his little red notebook where he goes,
Though where he goes he does not care.
His thoughts, his joys, his problems, his passions,
All scribbled on scraps of paper.

To everyone in need,
He gives one little note.
In hope it will help them,
Where ever they may go.


When he dies, the notebook will be shared.
All people will marvel at the wisdom the man told.
You couldn’t tell by looking, at the little red notebook.
But you could tell the man knew the secrets old.


He was wise, he was patient. He was kind and he was considerate.
Though the man is dead, by this he lives,
That he died with all his knowledge intact,
And all his secrets unhidden.