Ashtray

I’m caught between the fingers of an addict

Embers still alight but when he’s done he’ll soon forget he even had it

Stab it down into the ashtray, pale gray

All the taste burned out upon his lips and for such low pay

You don’t say

The birds should sing your songs until they tire

And the fire only flourishes when fed with wood not iron

Not a fist around the copper, crumpled paper

Die now, we’ll pay you later

Perpetrator of the murder of the choir

They all want so much more of us, a pack a day for single digit dollars

Smoke us down into oblivion, expect us when they holler

I hear screams and stare at sunbeams for pennies at the dawn

But my heart and soul are still worth less than means to carry on

And though I fight, scratch and bite, my blood alone will still be drawn

Because once a cigarette is lit, you use it ’til it’s gone