Breath of Death

As I drive, I suddenly feel the need
My windows half down
Hands blowing in the breeze

I pull up, stop, and hand them my money
I grab my death, the spare change
And then I slowly start driving

I flip hold and pack, 
I flip hold and pack, 
Remove the plastic wrap
Falling into its trap

Twenty sticks of death 
Three, four, or five a day
Breathe after breath
My insides slowly decay
And my energy fades away

But that doesn't stop me
No, it never does
If anything I feign it more
A buzz is never enough

Of course I care to share
Though I do it anyway
For being greedy with my killer
Would only make me its slave

Down to the last two, three, or four 
I savor each hit, still craving for more
And I guess it's kind of sad                                                                                       To say that I can afford                                                                                       Death at its finest                                                                                                       In almost every store.



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