A Lover's Loss

Malsickened, men of woe
Who travel such abstract distances
Whom search, but stumble
They find no solution to all toils they hold

What heights we've seen for these of such
That we contain disaster in the bottles
They collect dust, but we journey with them
Never to dispose of it, never to find the love

Our flesh and bone have failed, flatline but unseen
But what if, on crazies and senses
That we still don't admit it
That keeps us trapped inside your bottles

I've sold out my voice to tell the truth
With words dried and tongue tired
You are hopeful, so you say, but God is invisible
Hope is in the invisible, not the immediate