Do you think of me, late at night,
When you can’t sleep?
My heads in the clouds as you lift my feet.
Perhaps it’s time I went for a smoke,
Maybe it’s time that it lasts all night.
It’s just a trip on the cigarette express.
My backyard is a theater to the sky's play,
Where ash meets the earth in good faith,
Where my back meets the grass as I lay
And whispers the words I’ll never say.
It’s just a drive down memory lane,
Aboard the cigarette express.
And tears wipe my face,
My mind is flooded and engraved,
A picture of creaking floorboards
And fresh graves,
As I chisel on a stone all of my names.
As I board my final train,
I can’t say that I’m afraid.
The pain subsides to the gloomy day.
And as the coal churned
And the smoke rose,
Oh, I’m so tired of chugging along.
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