He wonders at his aching, empty life

The faces that he knows are naught but smoke

And echoes of his own mortality

He stares them down and wonders why they're here

They sing him nonsense words and nothing more;

He knows, to them, his death is but a game

His fevered brain no longer plays their game –

He's sure there's something more than this to life.

Won't listen as they swear there's nothing more.

His tired eyes see visions in the smoke

A story of the man that once was here

Now beaten by his own mortality.

He used to rail against mortality

He laughed at death, and life was but a game.

He bitterly recalls what's brought him here

Now can't outrun his reckless way of life.

Succumbing to his demons more and more –

The fire in his eyes has dulled to smoke.

He takes a shaking breath; exhales the smoke.

Accepts the cancer of mortality

He has his cigarette and nothing more

A cancer stick, a way of life, a game

The glowing ember-tip's a spark of life

The only gift of Fate that's brought him here.

He dared a twist of Fate to bring him here

A chosen way, a path that moves like smoke

He's dwelt among the shadows all his life

The darkness hides his frail mortality.

He laughs his weakness off like it's a game

His hope is gone. Tonight, he dreams no more.

His quiet old despair grows ever more.

He knows with certainty he'll die in here.

At last, the final move of losing game

The room around dissolves in streams of smoke

Stops dreaming of his own mortality

Just waits for fate to finally end his life.

Life; he knows no more

Mortality, at last, here

Just smoke, ends the game.