No Hope Inside the Jar (Dancing Bones)

Everyday again around the same old end.
Round and round walking, running, facing.

The outside seems so empty from within,
So square, so rigid.

But this jar is more than closed,
And no air seem come for most
Of those who venture share a glimpse.

So deny me, and this is where I end.

Inside the jar... inside the glass.

To see but not to touch or smell.
To hear but not to taste or care.

Inside the glass, inside the jar.

We go round the bottom.
Never ending.

Just like bottles.
Just like bones.
Just like bad old rum.