[Intro] Small glass. Thin light. A little death with a price tag tied. [Verse 1] I found him where the hunger keeps a storefront, dust in the jars, flies on the sill. His cheeks had fallen in like winter, his hands knew medicine and bills. He looked at me like law was watching, like the shelves had ears for sin. I laid down gold with a dead man’s patience, said, “I need sleep that won’t end.” There’s a kind of grief that does its counting. Coin by coin, it learns your name. It don’t scream first. It checks the distance from the counter to the grave. He said, “This is not allowed.” I said, “Neither is breathing without her.” Outside, the street kept selling bread, and I bought the blackest flower. [Chorus] Mantua bottle, fit in my hand. Love went under, so I made my plan. Gold on the table, dust in my throat. Mantua bottle, take me home. [Verse 2] The glass was light for a thing so final, one small moon with no sky inside. I tucked it close like a borrowed heartbeat, felt the whole world step aside. No priest could sell me another morning. No friend could drag me from the door. When hope came late with a letter behind it, I was already paying for more. That’s how the city makes a coffin. Not with nails. With a quiet price. A starving man, an outlawed mercy, and a lover too tired to ask twice. If fate has hands, they smelled like silver. If heaven watched, it watched me spend. I thought I bought a way to reach her. I bought the part that made it end. [Chorus] Mantua bottle, fit in my hand. Love went under, so I made my plan. Gold on the table, dust in my throat. Mantua bottle, take me home. [Bridge] Count it. Weigh it. Wrap it in cloth. Tell the law you never saw. Hide the label. Lower the light. Some doors open only one night. I would have paid with my name, my blood, with every prayer I had left undone. But death had change and a merchant’s face. He gave me glass. I gave him fate. [Final Chorus] Mantua bottle, fit in my hand. Love went under, so I made my plan. Gold on the table, dust in my throat. Mantua bottle, don’t take me home— take me to her. [Outro] Small glass. Thin light. A little death held warm all night. [End]
