....Black Bottles....

Selling lotions and potions, with no real notions While traveling with this carousels carnival caravan A million bottles of black.... With no answers, no cures, no promises, no hope! Like dangling this rope, of self hypnotization? Unable to see anything beyond their own day And then, their own grave.... These salespeople, selling nothing at all? Except perhaps, confusions glitter of glimmering dust Sitting up their display tables of somewhat confined Adorned with alluring and pretty pictures, of the well refined Growing old and getting gray.... Living with no moment, beyond this day? Selling lotions and potions, with no real notions While traveling with this carousels carnival carivan A million bottles of black.... Trying their hardest, to steal away the assurances and the dreams Of millenniums of lives and souls, whom have believed In something, beyond this valley of certain death A shadow, which has always lurked in their mist Selling.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Black Bottles!