If I drink from the empty jar, do I swallow
Will it be my pride, or the things I hide inside and cried over,
And if temptation offers it’s hand do I spit in it,
Do a bat my eyelashes,
Do I grin at it
Do I sin, and take hold of a dream up in ashes

If an empty jar calls me like a seashell song, do I press my lips to its rim
And drink from within
The drink that is desert air,
Dry as my skin
As empty as my hands
And do I grin
When it fills up again