Smoked My Cigarette

Smoked My Cigarette

I saw the pretty young lady,
Walking slowly along,
The rivers of her delicate imagination
She believed in flowers,
And the spirit of spring,
And slowly unwrapped the packages of temptation
I saw her life crashing down,
From the skies of satisfaction,
How she had sold her heart and her wit!
So her tears I bore,
And shared her grief,
And down the street, smoked my cigarette!

I saw the dreamer,
Coming towards me,
Singing to the dream that dwelt deep in his heart
A song of sorrow,
A song of defeat,
Of how he had failed in the most important part
He wept and he mourned,
His tears washing the floor,
The spirit of repentance in him had been lit,
I gave him my shoulder,
I gave him my heart,
And down the street, smoked my cigarette!

I saw the rich young man,
The jewel fanatic,
He fancied easy women and diamond stones
In the streets of his mind,
He ruled in arrogance,
In pride he believed he knew the unknowns
But I saw him fall,
Like a rock from the sky,
Hard on his face, into a deep pit
I watched him and laughed,
At the emptiness of his words,
And down the street, smoked my cigarette!

I saw the famous young girl,
Bathed in intoxicating scents,
She believed her beauty would win the world
Her world was small,
A maze with too many walls,
She helplessly tried her way out,
I saw her kneel in humility,
And cry out loud,
She writhed in the pain in all her doubt
She wore a veil,
As she walked,
To hide the misery that put her in a fit,
She was a sanctuary,
Of arrogance and pride,
But I lent not my ears and smoked my cigarette!

Then my eyes saw,
A most divine sight,
An angel who dropped from the vaults of heaven
I loved her well,
With the heart I had,
But love seemed to have a strange purpose
I saw the divine angel,
Turn slowly human,
And then my desires descended to the surface
I watched her drift away,
With the sly evening breeze,
And then she was gone before I figured it
But my own tears I collected,
And turned into laughter,
And down the street, smoked my cigarette!

Pretty women I’ve seen,
With ambitious men have been,
I have heard the deceitful man’s words that crackle
The man with gold I notice,
The cruel man, the god of greed
His soul he sells, to the diamond’s sparkle
These men speak,
Only what all men speak
And to their little human desires weakly submit
The poet alone couldn’t change the world,
So this note he left for you,
And down the street he went and smoked his cigarette!

Screamjack