The Bottle Song

I look backwards on the setting sun
The warming colours touched the - heaven sung
See truth shining through a cracking mould

I was sold
How the surface gleamed
Reflection rays of hope
How the surface gleamed

Fell on fences that were picket black
a warming whispered on wind held me back
Deceived by blinding white textures of gold

I was sold
How the surface gleamed
Reflecting rays of hope
How the surface gleamed

I look backwards on the setting sun
now I don't run