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They tell me that this cup of coffee is freshly ground,
It couldn't be much further from the truth,
So I sit and I watch the freeze-dried bits floating around,
On the top of the maelstrom of dishwater brown,
The vapours of steam rise upon their way,
To dance with tobacco's sweet pungent smell,
Whilst the tip of my stick glows a firey orangey-red,
And I stare and I stare at the point of our doom,
And I know that one day we'll be dead.
But away from the hustle and bustle of life,
Far away, oh so far from this madding crowd,
There's a call in the rustle of tobacco leaves,
Dried and packed in their thin paper shroud,
That calls me to remember quite clearly,
That this life is as fragile as glass,
That one day the dust that I swept underneath of life's carpet,
Will come back to recover my arse,
'Cos all things must die; they must come to an end,
If you look for the truth in the joke,
And I'll lay down beside you, my nicotine friend,
As the last but one cigarette is smoked,
So let's raise a toast to our possible futures,
And while we're here to our possible pasts,
And I shan't reveal,
The place that I shall be,
As the hustle and bustle of this life goes on without me,
Yeah I won't reveal,
The place that I will be,
As the hustle and bustle of this life goes on without me.
* part of the forthcoming Craven "A" Saga.
© 2003 Mike Harris. For rights, I reserve my rights to this work as my own. The recordings of the pieces may be freely downloaded, shared and performed; song long as it is for non-commercial purposes and so long as I am credited as the original author and so long as you are happy to share recordings of your performances and intepretations of the pieces. The lyrics may be copied and reproduced in part or whole, use them as you wish so long as it is for non-commercial purposes.