The Mysterious Bottle Of Tricks

He lived in a state of hate or regret
It's hard to tell just which
His raging against the rising sun
Concerned with uncorking 
his mysterious bottle of tricks
All burning anger and bubbling bits
Enough to give hardened drinkers the giggles or fits.
It's hard to tell just which.
And he'd walk through the desert all desperate and drunk
It's hard to tell just which.
His raging against the dying sun
Concerned with uncorking
His mysterious bottle of tricks
All searing anger and burning bits
Enough to give rattlers the fear or a twitch
It's hard to tell just which.

It's hard to tell what went through his mind
As he took down the liquid so cruel and unkind.
And it made him see more or it made him go blind
It's hard to tell just which.

He died on a Sunday all burnt out or broke
It's hard to tell just which.
And the sun burned his body and turned him to sand
His mysterious bottle of tricks returned to the land
Either useless and limp or latent and rich -
It's hard to tell just which.