Sometimes I wish I was a smoker

So I’d have an excuse to walk right out 

So that my thoughts weren’t hands of poker

So that my mind had no sight of a cloud 

 

That’s why I’m here as tight as a band

Where the butterflies talk - 

But I don’t understand 

Venting to myself is useless so I just gawk 

 

Shaving this thought to a whittle 

Until I convince myself of such a crazy imagination 

That my conscious thinks so little 

Who am I to make such a pun?

 

When you have nothing to hear 

Your head is the dull knife cutting through chains 

The thump of a hit deer

And the car rushing into darkness