look what the tide dragged in

Driftwood is cool, no doubt,
I’ve heard its praises sung;
But a bottle, is a bottle,
and they’re on a higher rung.
One washed up, onto a shore,
an empty bottle, and yet more.
See bottles hold messages;
they don’t get turned to doors.

Bottles. Bottles. Floating on water.
Bottles. Bottles. You’ve never been hotter.

Bottles aren't really feeling careful,
for they have no feelings ‘tall.
And they”ll live to float another time,
unless, hucked at a wall.
Oh bottle, sweet bottle,
where are you if not in my hand?
Probably waiting to depart,
for some far off foreign land.