It sure hit me in the head
It was pitch black around
Did someone take me to bed?
The parched lips searched for the taste of smoke
and the hands were numb
Ants made merry round the right foot
and teeth clattered in cold
So we light a cigarette, I and drinking soul
As we see the golden rings on head vanish in thin air
I question my own existence for a while
But there won't be angels and won't be reapers
A life to grow, a death to mourn
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