Pterodactyl

Bottle rockets in the night, on the fourth of July Are as meaningless to me as your whispered goodbye Or your disappointed sigh Antique porcelain I break, its pieces white and pink It will cut both my feet Hiding deep in the rug Bottle rockets in the night, bottle rockets in the night How I long for an equation That could predict their flight And I never wanna die And I don't want you do die Whiskey river took your mind, or sometimes it was wine And sometimes it was cancer Pterodactyl up on high Bottle rockets in the sky I assume there'll be some answer