Too many cigarettes to count
Completely clouded out
This procrastination, mind-numbing sensation does very little indeed for me
Seems desperation took hold a long time ago
And now I am most certainly reaping all that I sow
The words they may still flow, but my life is a mess
Empty days wasted, one man making little to no such kind of an impression
A harrowing suggestion put forth by my doctor, “Quit the cigarettes, they’ll be the death of you.”
He’s right, but try as I might, I always manage to do my utmost to unearth that God awful lighter
Be it hidden behind the back of the cupboard or way, way out of sight
Frightful to imagine just how far a smoker will go to ingite once more
I’m knock knock knockin’ on heavens door

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