Tiptoe

Sing into bottles of significant color and shine, contents and reason forgotten,.

As if you will ever open them, without a promise of some kind much less see what's inside merely because it is bottled. I dare say make bottles of your own and tell me what it is you have deemed of worth to be placed inside.

My ghost falling perpetually inside of my icy body, I reckon, prod it for answers, why am I acting ways in which are strange to me.

Watch for when nothing makes sense, catch a fever commit to your soul and die.