The ledger of my life is written in a saline stream, A heavy, salt-crusted tally of every broken dream. I’ve paced the floor in silence, watching shadows climb the wall, Counting up the droplets that were destined just to fall. If sorrow had a market price, if grief could be refined, I’d be the wealthiest soul that you could ever hope to find. (Chorus) Oh, I’d bottle my tears and sell them by the glass, A vintage of the heartache that I’ve watched slowly pass. For every lonely midnight, for every hollow plea, I’d have a liquid fortune stored in jars for all to see. Yes, I’d bottle my tears, a currency of pain, And trade my deepest sorrows for a little bit of gain. I’ve filled a thousand vessels with the nights I spent alone, Distilling every whisper into something I could own. The market for my misery is steady, high, and deep, With all the promises I made that I could never keep. I’d label every bottle with the date and with the name, Of every ghost that haunted me and every flickered flame. (Chorus) Oh, I’d bottle my tears and sell them by the glass, A vintage of the heartache that I’ve watched slowly pass. For every lonely midnight, for every hollow plea, I’d have a liquid fortune stored in jars for all to see. Yes, I’d bottle my tears, a currency of pain, And trade my deepest sorrows for a little bit of gain. The shelves are lined with crystal, catching light from dying suns, A testament to battles lost and races never won. I’m rich in all the sadness that I’ve gathered through the years, A tycoon of the tragedy, a merchant of my tears. But when the last jar’s empty and the profit’s finally made, I’ll still be left with nothing but the price that I have paid. (Chorus) Oh, I’d bottle my tears and sell them by the glass, A vintage of the heartache that I’ve watched slowly pass. For every lonely midnight, for every hollow plea, I’d have a liquid fortune stored in jars for all to see. Yes, I’d bottle my tears, a currency of pain, And trade my deepest sorrows for a little bit of gain.
