Castaway

A warm sunday afternoon, and I was on small stroll when I noticed a sad sight. Broken, dirty and covered with dust, lying on the roadside. As I came near this is what I heard . . . . .

He grabbed me round my slender neck,
I could not shout or scream,
He carried me into his room
Where we could not be seen;
He tore away my flimsy wrap
And gazed upon my form -
I was so cold and still and damp,
While he was wet and warm.
His feverish mouth he pressed to mine;
I let him have his way -
He drained me of my very self,
I could not say him nay.
He made me what I am. Alas!
That's why you find me here...
A broken vessel - broken glass -
Which once held Bottled Beer.

:-p