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
Autor(es): The Rose Chronicles
