Bic flick with every toke,
Creeping up the glass,
Empty spaces fill with smoke.
I try to forget what fills my head,
All these thoughts, better off dead.
I’m sick of the way these ashes make puns,
Tired of the ways words get caught in my lungs.
All my dreams burn out so fast,
Another year gone, 4 quarters won’t last.
I’ve been running so fast for so long,
I just want to sit here, relax,
Hey, don’t get me wrong,
I’m not giving up, I just need to chill out,
Quiet these thoughts, take a hit,