A neat dip on my lip, a furrow, where you sit.
smoke travels along my brook
Down and out, deaths on a hook!
And I couldn’t be happier

And although this seems strange to state
My irony of merit to deaths trait
If it wasn’t for Malboro’s white sticks and a vision so clear
My anguish and cynicism would fail to disappear

So I am not thanking life, pessimistic I still am
I thank the inventor
For his wonderful plan
Everyone’s addicted to something

And I couldn’t be happier.

11/04/2003

Author's Note: Smoking is a wonderful thing, for pessimistic people anyway...

Posted on 11/04/2003
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