The sun beats a dead horse through a desert of lies
the only oasis is 44 ounces of pure bliss
cooling the essence from within
There is no greater comfort, no greater satisfaction

On the hottest summer day
life drains out of the chalice of joy
Its remnants still cold against my lips
burning into my being the memory of it

Empty and discarded the heat rises
Once again roaming and rummaging through the day
searching endlessly for the reality to match the memory
a world of imposters pretending they are worthy

Trying to believe that contented equals happiness
Disappointment lies empty at the bottom of the bin
Left to wander in search of that purity of bliss
For there is no greater comfort, no greater joy