It's in the bottom of the bottle
The truth every artist or poet
Spends their life looking for
It's hidden in such a simple place
The bottom of the bottle
Is it empty for the right reasons?
Was it drunken quickly
A man desperately needing a low buzz
Or maybe it was a slow last sip
A night nursing the bottle
Was it a heavy drink?
Were the last shreds of hope
Represented in that pile of soaked spice left over?
Or maybe it was a lighter kind
Something you could slam down
And ignore how many ways
You can see your life
In the bottom of the bottle