When I was 19 I picked up the cancer stick,
It was my third vice next to woman and the drinking binge,
I tried to calm the voices, from the red lighted panic district,
But my motivation came from a death wish.

My mother tells me, someday I'll cry out,
"Lord! I have found a reason to live now,
Could you purge the smoke from my lungs somehow?"
But it'll be to late, hindsight in the final round
But everybody hits the cancer, in this damned devil town.

What is it in me that destroys what is in me?
What happens when nightmares awaken to new live terrors?
When I go out, why does it seem that the
eyes of the people are digging in to me so deep?..

I need a cigarette...

But do I really?..
Yes I do believe so.

Two years later, I had my palm read,
To find if I would find love, family, and be able to bring home the breed,
To find if the demons would hurt my love instead,
The teller saw my palms, and this is what she said:

"Why do you carry your burdens?
Why have you given up so quick?
Stop running and try,
Keep a positive eye,
And put out that damned cancer stick!"

So I did.