I remember this like it were yesterday
Because, really, it was
And it does seem that by the very end she paid for her one such sin
Too many cigarettes, an utter addiction besieged with regret
This – the very thing that introduced her to a final demise
And now all that we ever get to see inside our lavish memories is one such woman, enticement entirely at hand
Knowing full well albeit relatively dreading those sands of time
An entirely separate kind of preacher altogether
Praying only for those who leave themselves agonisingly predisposed
I do suppose that she was, in fact, rather happy
The smokes, one forever-and-a-day, night – God awful evening – atop another
Not forgetting those eye-altering chokes, mapping all of it out
Love her, course I do!
How could I not!?
We choose who we love but this aforementioned addiction only ever seems to take it upon itself when it comes to choosing us