Addicted
She sits alone most days most nights, perched in corner with her pipe
smoking rock she holds on tight only to fade into the light of the flickering
candle she burns so bright.
For nightowl knows all is not right, can't find her way she won't fight so, death
awaits her final flight perched in corner with her pipe that numbs all feelings
that wrongs all right.
Running scared into each day from Columbian Cowboys to collect a deed of
laundered money, lust, and greed.
So close the door the windows now, lock them tight, don't make a sound and
creep around quietly if any should knock you, can't be to trusting in your spot.
Now, let the tears build up til your weak in your knees, and keep on smoking
to the wheeze, of the poison your pipe does breed.
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