Reminds me of something a guy told me once:
You mom lived in a box called a house when she was pregnant.
She was driven in a box on wheels to another box, where she had you.
When you were a kid, they sent you to another box for education.
After that, you worked in a box called an office.
When you got off work, you went home to your box in a box with wheels on it.
When you get old, they might take you to another box to live and then die.
After that, they put your body in a box,
Transport that box to a grave in another rolling box,
And bury you.
The moral? Life is one big boxing match.