You’re close, but these are no cigars
Just cheap drug-store cancer sticks
You so lovingly call these deathbeds your friends
They so lovingly call you a waste of breath
Can’t you hear it breaking?
That’s the sound of your respect
It lies shattered on the floor
Don’t you see the pieces?
Broken pieces of yourself?
Take another ragged breath
And try to calm all those screaming doubts
Before there’s nothing left
But a shadow of the shadow of yourself
Hidden well, behind that fog
Clouding, cataract over ice blue eyes
A caricature of life and death
If it makes you happy, baby
Then I guess that all that counts
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